


Off The Grid

by BLKGURLSMUSE



Series: Richonne Lemon Shots [22]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Childhood Friends, Dorks in Love, F/F, F/M, Falling In Love, Friendship/Love, Gen, Hiding in Plain Sight, Love Confessions, M/M, Multi, Not Beta Read, Other, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, True Love, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:55:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 22,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25903192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BLKGURLSMUSE/pseuds/BLKGURLSMUSE
Summary: They've known each other for a long time, resounding an obstinate aura around them; possessing the strongest foundation and affection they are unable to express…
Relationships: Rick Grimes/Michonne
Series: Richonne Lemon Shots [22]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/370550
Comments: 16
Kudos: 9





	1. Off The Clock

**Author's Note:**

> Year: early Spring 2010
> 
> Place: Atlanta, Georgia, and (the small made-up town of Concorde Springs, Georgia)

Behind the wheel of the rental blue sedan, Michonne Taylor leaned forward, straining against the seat belt as she squinted with slack-jawed disbelief at her destination.

Sitting back with a helpless huff, she gripped the wheel in a manic tell - foot tapping while driving just wasn't wise. Fleeting thoughts bounced back and forth like ping pong balls, rattling the space inside her skull. She'd been on the road for hours, propelled by the certainty she'd finally gotten somewhere. She battled fatigue and a tiny, tense ball of anxiety that had been slowly building in the pit of her stomach.

She eased her rental up on the driveway in front of the building and turned her key - the engine went silent; the worrying atmosphere became just a tad more intense.

Michonne shook her head quietly, staring at the weathered down, swinging sign in front of her, confirming her fears this was, in fact, the Concorde Inn. Unbuckling herself, she leaned forward, fishing the pamphlet she'd been given from where it'd been jammed between the windshield and the dashboard. She stared at the picture on the front page, displaying a closeup view of a cozy, entryway, fronted by the sign she'd just stared at -

It was five stories high - comfortably perched on an isolated beachside – pale blue water reflected the sky, as the clouds pass by. The vibrant green grass sits along the border occupied by daisies with moonlight-pale petals and a speckle of yellow in the middle. The whole surface makes a gentle, waving notion as the breeze passes by.

Michonne pushed her door open and stepped out of the car, taking a moment to stretch and roll her neck and shoulders. After having spent six hours on the road, she felt like a bent metal coil ready to spring and break. She hadn't made any stops since she'd known for sure where he was. She was doing this on borrowed time and it'd taken her a week to find a lead. She'd rest when she stopped, she'd told herself. The idea of there being any rest to be had inside was a bit laughable.

The lobby was welcoming, polished wooden floorboards, cozy, soft grey rugs and bright deep -blue furniture, large potted plants by yellow curtained windows. The reception desk was very central, right underneath a quite charming, if a bit chandelier. Behind it a white-haired man squinted at her behind heavy-looking, glasses - his eyes so pale they seemed almost silver.

"Hi!" Michonne blurted out, enthusiastically, her voice echoing unexpectedly in the hall. She cleared her throat awkwardly, looking around. "Got any rooms?"

The old man, who so far had been frowning at her as though she was a solicitor from hell, suddenly smiled. "Why yes, we have Oceanside rooms and poolside rooms, fill out this form!"

Stepping up to the desk, Michonne reached into her jacket pocket for her wallet - she'd have to go back to the car to get her duffel bag, but could just check in now anyway. Distracted by the papers in front of her and sudden thoughts of access to a hot shower and a bed, she never heard anyone coming up behind her and nearly jumped when a voice spoke behind her.

"Am I under arrest?" the voice was familiar, even the playful tone couldn't mask its silky-smooth quality.

Michonne whipped her head over her shoulder, finding Rick Grimes himself standing mere steps behind her, wearing a familiar smile, eyebrows arching questioningly.

Well, the search had definitely ended.

He still looked the same. While personally, Michonne hadn't seen him in almost a year, his face was on billboards and magazines everywhere - he looked a little bit on the side of scruffy, with his overgrown dark curly hair, a few days' worths of stubble and a worn-looking brown t-shirt - but he looked like himself, and he looked relaxed - almost enviably so.

"Why, is there something you want to tell me?" she finally quipped back, turning around fully, smiling back as his own smile broadened considerably. Whenever he was near, smiling seemed mandatory.

"Nah, I've been good," he shrugged, his hands in the pockets of his jeans. "Ask Dale," he pointed with his chin at the man behind the counter.

Michonne looked back over her shoulder and the old man shrugged and nodded. "No complaints."

"I've been looking for you," Michonne lowered her voice, taking a step closer to her old friend.

"So, you didn't come for the postcard-worthy view from the Concorde suite?" Rick teased, while Dale grumbled behind the counter.

Michonne tried to contain her smile, trying to convey the seriousness of her mission. "People are worried about you."

Rick heaved a great sigh, his shoulders, his whole body moving with it as his hands dug just a little deeper into the shallow pockets of his jeans. "And they called the cops on me?"

Michonne laughed. "Nah, they just called on me… I'm off duty."

"I'm sorry you were dragged into this." He looked embarrassed.

"I wasn't dragged into anything. I was happy to help." She wanted to comfort him when she realized he was truly bothered by her presence.

"Your ID and room key, Miss Taylor," Dale cleared his throat, "do you need help with your luggage?"

"We've got it, Dale," Rick walked with her back to her car to pick up her bag, looking curiously from the rental to her and back.

"I'm on unofficial business, couldn't bring my car," she shrugged. "By the way…" she looked around the half-empty parking lot wondering where Rick's stunning white Range Rover was.

"How are you moving around?"

"I've been walking. But I left my car at the marina."

"There's a marina?" Michonne couldn't help the shock in her voice.

Rick grinned his patented grin, the same one she was used to seeing in photographs of him. It was surreal seeing it so up-close and personal.

"There are a few seaworthy vessels around, so, technically, yes, there is."

Michonne narrowed her eyes as she pulled her duffel from the trunk and snapped it shut. "Are any of the seaworthy vessels yours?"

Rick stepped up to take the bag from her, always reliably chivalrous. "Maybe."

Michonne chose not to comment as she walked beside him back into the Inn. She pushed the elevator, which carried them to the third floor where her room was.

It did have a nice view from its single bay window and the beach looked inviting. The full-sized bed looked fine the bathroom was small but looked clean and functional.

"Well… that's not too bad…" she mumbled as she tested whether or not the bedside table lamp switched on at all. It did.

Rick chuckled and she looked around to find him depositing her single duffel bag into the tiniest walk-in closet she'd ever seen.

"I promise you it's clean and safe, and you even have half-decent cable," he added pointing to the TV mounted on the wall, all the local stations are free and they even have Hulu and Netflix, I have to warn you though, the WiFi sucks."

Michonne nodded slowly, turning around and taking in the whole room curiously. "So where are you staying?"

"Fifth floor," Rick answered with no hesitation.

"Is that the presidential suite?" Michonne teased.

There was that patented grin. "No, it's the honeymoon suite actually."

"I see…" Michonne didn't know a good comeback for that, "What are the perks?" She expected him to say things like my I got married in Vegas last week, or the Italian supermodel is hiding from her husband, but, as it was clearly becoming the norm, Rick surprised her.

"It has a minibar out of this world," Rick nodded as though that was indeed something to boast about. "And a… bigger bed," he said staring at her own bed.

"That's nice," Michonne nodded, turning around and removing her jacket, the room felt slightly stuffy now.

He made the small room look smaller just by standing in it, and it made Michonne feel slightly claustrophobic for it - it'd been a while since she'd been subjected to his undivided attention in an enclosed space.

"So Uhm…" Michonne tossed her jacket on the bed and then sat at the foot of it, staring up, as he stepped closer. "What can I tell Maggie?"

Rick shrugged. "Tell her you found me. Tell her I'm alive. Tell her to stop worrying."

"Can I tell her where I found you?"

"Save that for later, keep the mystery," he winked.

Michonne chuckled. "Don't bite my head off but I'm contractually obligated to ask: Are you having a midlife crisis?"

Rick's eyes widened comically, his smile turning into a smirk.

"You don't see any sports car or girls half my age dangling from my arms, do you?"

"No, but apparently you have a boat!" Michonne joked, with a smirk of her own.

"Old, rich men have boats, Michonne," he pointed out.

"Yeah but maybe that's where you're hiding the twenty-year-olds."

Rick shook his head, still smiling. He reached with his foot to nudge hers. "Give me a day? I'm not ready for my sister, my parents, or my agent to descend upon me yet."

Michonne was nodding in acquiescence before she was even aware of it. She'd never been good at denying him stuff - a lifelong habit he had never knowingly exploited, but benefited from anyway.

"Thank you," he smiled softly. "You must be tired. I'll leave you alone," he started walking back towards the door.

"How about I show you around town in the evening?"

"Doesn't look like there'd be much to show around."

"I'll sweeten the deal with dinner. You like seafood, don't you?"

"Love it."

"It's settled then." He'd opened the door and half stepped out when he returned. "Don't use the wakeup call service. Dale never remembers."

Michonne laughed. "I'll use my phone, thanks."

Left alone, Michonne huffed a big sigh and stared around her room, back to the door where Rick had disappeared to and to her quiet phone in her hand. Part of her wanted to pacify his family back home, but the guy deserved the chance to prepare. She'd give him until tomorrow. He looked safe, healthy, and sane. That was really all she'd been asked to do, find him, and make sure he was okay.


	2. No More Mr. Hollywood

Rick had gone off the grid three months ago after wrapping up a long and stressful press tour for his last movie. An on-demand actor since the age of twenty-five, this sort of thing didn't faze him anymore - not as far as those closest to him would say. His agent Sasha Williams swore he was in a good mood throughout the whole ordeal. His parents, whom he'd visited shortly after landing back home, said he was tired but happy. Then, the next day, he called Sasha, told her to clear his schedule, and to wait for him to call back - and then he vanished. The last person to hear from him had been his sister Maggie, whom he called from LAX, saying he was taking a long break.

At first, it seemed like he went on an old school celebrity vacation - but when his face didn't show up anywhere fancy like St. Lucia, Cozumel, Paris, when no candid shots of him were seen, they started to worry. He was recognizable, the guy could hardly go out to pick the paper without being photographed or asked to sign things or body parts. The vanishing act was just unusual. Then, they found out from Sasha, he had no next projects lined up, which was just unreal - he never stopped working, never - the man had a filmography the size of Europe. When he wouldn't answer his phone or respond to texts, that was when Michonne was called in.

Not arbitrarily, they didn't find her in the phone book or anything. Michonne Taylor grew up three houses down from Rick Grimes. They went to school together, they were in a lot of the same classes, they were part of a tight little group of neighbors who still talked to each other over the fence on the Fourth of July, who still got together to drink bubbly champagne on New Year's Eve. Well, their parents did. Rick was far away in L.A. like any actor his caliber, and while Michonne was still in the city she grew up in, she had her own place.

She was doing her own thing. Her own single, childless, career woman in her forty's thing. But their families were still tight, and they still saw each other at least once a year on the holidays. So, naturally, Maggie, Rick's sister, sought her out in her hour of need. If anyone could be discreet about an A-list actor in his forties maybe having a midlife crisis, it would be Michonne - the one with the law enforcement career. It also may be helped Maggie probably still entertained the idea Michonne still carried a torch for her older brother after all these years.

No matter what Maggie imagined, she really needed someone to really care about her brother having a meltdown somewhere and wanting to protect him as much as she could.

At age fourteen, Michonne used to draw little hearts and stars around their names in the back of her school notebook. It was your standard puppy love. Later, by age sixteen, Michonne was already brushing aside any romantic feelings for her friend, due to the fact he went through her girlfriends like he was running a damn marathon - and why wouldn't he? Rick was already a very uniquely handsome young man, athletic, blue-eyed with a captivating smile and warm personality. He was the perfect specimen, a jock - and girls in their predictable girly nature all fell for that sort of thing like dominoes, one after the other, consistently.

Michonne was, like her fellow girlfriends, not immune to mother nature's evil designs - but, having grown up with the guy, and being close enough to be continuously exposed to Rick being in female company, she decided she had better stop that silly girl train straight away. She had important shit to do, after all, she had no time to compete for his attention or any other boys for that matter.

She always wanted a career in law enforcement, Michonne Taylor had had to fight, and cry, and scratch her way to the top to be taken seriously. No one in her life understood why she couldn't have picked something less… what had her father and brother called it? Oh yeah... manly.

But she had remained undeterred and moved forward until she'd proven to everyone she could and would do it. In a strange way, she was saved from becoming a victim of unrequited love by being too busy to pursue it.

But of course, Maggie, sweet Maggie, eternally romantic Maggie, always sort of gave her the look whenever she caught Michonne and Rick talking in any subsequent yearly get-togethers between their families and neighbors. The look like she'd expected something momentous to happen, like in a romantic comedy, or in a wartime drama. Nothing ever did happen. It just had never been meant to be. He'd always be her secret childhood crush. She had a deep fondness for him, but she had no designs on the guy - even if Maggie thought she was exploiting her weakness.

And so here she was, in a smudge beachside inn in the middle of nowhere, where Rick Grimes, A-lister, Oscar winner, and two times People's Magazine Sexiest Man Alive extraordinaire was currently hiding.

Mission accomplished.

So now what?

Shower, nap? Then go out for a drive and try to find out what's going on. It seemed like a good plan.

The shower was pretty decent, the bed was too. Her phone dutifully woke her up at six and she rolled out of bed feeling rested enough, and hungry. She realized the last time she had eaten had been on the road, before lunch, which she'd skipped altogether. She washed her face, brushed her teeth, and found something to wear in her duffel. She didn't think they were going to any fancy diner in a town like this, so she chose her comfiest jeans, the dressiest sweater, and dusted off her jacket - hoping it didn't smell bad after she'd worn it for the entire road trip. She tamed her locs with some hair-pomade and nodded approvingly at the mirror - she looked presentable. Not movie-star worthy company, but she tried not to let that bother her. She wore makeup on a date, that's not what this was. She hadn't even packed a tube of lip gloss.

She sat down in the empty lobby, her eyes searching for Dale who was absent. She tried not to be spooked by the complete silence as she checked her messages. Maggie and Sasha wanted updates. Her mother wanted to remind her they were going gift shopping together next week, and her partner, Abraham, checking in. She replied to her mother but left everybody else for later.


	3. Cringe Worthy

"Ready to be wowed?"

Michonne looked up from her seat to see Rick coming out of the elevator. He'd changed clothes, wearing a clean black sweater and dark blue jeans. She was glad she hadn't dressed down.

"Will I be wowed?" she asked doubtfully, putting away her phone and standing up.

"Don't be such a snob, city girl," he winked at her and gestured with his chin to the double doors indicating where they should move. "There's enjoyment to be had anywhere in the world."

"You'd know…" she mumbled as she followed him.

"What was that?" he chuckled.

"Nothing!" she shrugged, digging her car keys out of her jacket. "But we're driving, right?"

"Sure…" he shook his head laughing. "It will be a short ride though."

When they got into the car and Michonne was under the full effect of 'celebrity' sitting next to her, she was forced to acknowledge the man, even in hiding, smelled good. She shook it off and shuddered as she switched on the engine. No torches may be in the vicinity, but damn it, she was still a woman, and mother nature was still a bitch.

"So where to?" She asked with her eyes directed forward.

"Just drive along the beach that way," Rick pointed.

Nodding, Michonne put the car in motion, the gears in her head immediately going round and round as she worked through her questions. For a while, there was a comfortable silence, and Michonne suppressed all her jokes about how there was nothing to see but the ocean and empty roads.

"So… Concorde, huh?" Not her most brilliant opener, "How did you find this place?"

"I shot on location not far from here a few years ago," Rick replied easily. "About an hour-long drive."

"Interesting…" Michonne nodded, still keeping her eyes on the road.

"And your family and agent couldn't know you were here because…?"

"You can park right there…" Rick interrupted pointing at the beachfront kiosk that appeared in front of them.

Welcome to the Concorde Crab-Shack

Michonne snorted. "Fancy name."

"Everything here has Concorde in the name Michonne, don't judge."

They looked at each other inside the car, smirking.

"How quaint."

"Snob."

There were more tables, and more people, than Michonne had expected. But as Rick directed Michonne, zigzagging through the other patrons on their way to a table with a better view of the beach, she realized something curious - every single person there, staff included, was over the age of sixty.

"I feel like I'm at Bingo night with my Ma at church…" Michonne mumbled as Rick pulled a chair back for her.

Rick chuckled behind her as he tucked her in and then walked across the table to sit, facing her, his trademark grin wide and bright. Before anything else could be said an older lady shuffled close, carrying a tray with two tall, icy-looking glasses of beer and served them, smiling brightly at Rick.

"The usual, Mr. G?"

"Hi, Tammy. Yes, but double. Meet my friend Michonne," Rick nodded across the table at her.

Tammy turned then, peering at Michonne over the rim of her glasses. "Welcome to Concorde, dear! Are you allergic to anything?"

"Hi, Tammy! Nope, not allergic to anything."

Tammy nodded sweetly and shuffled away. Michonne watched her, looking over her shoulder, and slowly took another peek at the other patrons. It looked like a retirement community. She counted only ten people, outside of staff, but they were all definitely elderly. When she turned back around, Rick was watching her with a knowing smirk.

"Cheers!" he raised his beer at her and took a sip.

Michonne smiled and took a sip from her glass - it was a good beer, ice-cold - but even with the chill in the air, it didn't bother her. She was quiet for a moment, eyes roaming about as she took more tiny sips from her beer. Rick watched her curiously.

"Say what you're thinking, Miss Taylor."

Michonne waited until Rick took the glass to his lips. "I get it now. It's not a midlife crisis. You're prematurely retiring."

The result was immediate and Rick's spit take was glorious, causing Michonne to lean back on her chair and laugh deep, with her whole body, while he joined her, leaning forward for a napkin, which he dabbed at his chin with.

"I guess you got me," he laughed.

Michonne sipped from her own beer, watching him clean his mess, shaking his head, still laughing.

"I'm surprised."

"Why?" Rick returned, slowly crumpling the wad of napkins he'd used into a ball. "I feel like I've accomplished plenty at the ripe old age of forty-five."

Michonne made a face, tilting her head to the side. "I don't know…" she started while he narrowed his eyes at her. "I expected more from you."

"Like what?"

"Like… as a Hollywood star of your quality, at this point, I'd expected you to be one half of a power couple with one of those combined names people love so much."

Rick shook his head and threw the wet ball of napkins, hitting her squarely on the nose, causing her to jump back in her seat in clangs of laughter while he laughed along with her, shoulders shaking.

"Drink your beer," he grumbled at her as he reached for his own glass.

Michonne obeyed, watching him quietly, admiring his neck and strong jaw as he swallowed, her eyes narrowed and she sighed involuntarily. He was always pretty to look at. The scruff on his face really worked well for him.

"So, what's the story with this town?" she couldn't help but ask.

Rick shrugged. "It's… what you called it…Bingo Night…church..." he grinned. "It's a place people come to retire…"

"I see… and you felt right at home?" she arched an eyebrow.

Rick crumpled another napkin into a ball just to throw it at her. Michonne dodged this time as she laughed. Two elderly men at the nearest table stared at them and shook their heads disapprovingly before turning to their meals.

Michonne snapped her eyes back at Rick and both burst into laughter again. It seemed like here they were young enough to be frowned upon - it felt good.

"You tell me why I'm here, Special, Agent Taylor," Rick prodded, leaning back against his chair in a relaxing pose, crossing one leg over the other, folding his hands on his lap as he waited.

Michonne relaxed against her chair as well as she pondered that for a moment. He seemed fine, he didn't seem to be in any sort of emotional stress - she'd never seen him so relaxed, or so at ease. He hadn't been photographed in over three months.

"Privacy?" she suggested.

"Mmmm…" Rick looked around slowly, nodding. "There's plenty of that here."

"So… you're not a closet Scientologist, right?" She deadpanned.

Rick laughed, not bothering with crumpled napkins anymore. "I was wondering how long it'd be before the rehab rumors started but Scientology…" he considered with a sigh. "That could be interesting for my fans."

Michonne laughed nodding. "So, you're OK, right?" she asked seriously. "You're not… dying or anything that devastating?"

Rick laughed. "My sister really got to you."

"I just need to cover all my bases with her."

"That you do." Rick sighed.

Tammy returned with a plate full of fried shrimp, fried crab legs, with a side of french fries and hushpuppies - she smiled and wished them Bon Appetit, offering a beer refill before shuffling away.

"Sasha also voiced concern…" Michonne started when Ruby was out of earshot. "...what with you not picking up any new projects yet."

Rick nodded. "Understandable. I did say I wanted a break, but I never meant it before when I said it."

"And now you do?" Michonne prodded, even though this was getting more personal than her mission warranted.

"I do…" Rick leaned forward with his arms folded on the table - he took a moment to choose a fried shrimp, stuck it on his fork, and offered it to her with arched eyebrows. "Now try this."

Michonne blinked at the shrimp all up in her face and couldn't help but flush when she bit into it - being fed was a bit too intimate - not something they'd done before together.

Of course, shrimp was probably one of the least sexy foods in the world so maybe it canceled that out. She couldn't help but laugh as she pondered this, trying not to gag on her mouthful. Rick arched an eyebrow curiously, his lips curling just a bit.

"What's so funny?" Rick tossed a shrimp into his mouth.

Michonne chewed, taking her time. "You have a boat; you're trying to sell me on the fried shrimp… maybe you're opening a restaurant?"

Rick shook his head but he was smiling. "You're having too much fun speculating about my life, Michonne."

Michonne shrugged unapologetically. "I have a legitimate excuse."

"I'm just on a prolonged vacation, enjoying a place where no one's seen my movies or care that I've been in one. You and I are the only guests in the town's only hotel - so you can see why I'm here."

Michonne narrowed her eyes, studying him. "But you've been here for three months?"

Rick nodded and remained silent.

"Doing what?" she continued, she couldn't help herself.

Rick shrugged. "I took up sailing."

Michonne snorted. "Of course, you did."

Rick smiled. "I'm allowed a crisis, Michonne. I am a middle-aged man."

"So am I!" Michonne shrugged. "Well… woman."

Rick grinned. "Well then… have a crisis with me."

Michonne tilted her head to the side. "Meaning what?"

"Meaning, since you're here… enjoy your fried shrimp and stop worrying about me. If you're good, tomorrow I'll take you on my sailboat."

"Tomorrow?" Michonne made a face.

"If you're going to drop Maggie and Sasha on me, the least you can do is keep me company - play referee for a while."

"Who are you more afraid of?"

"Maggie," Rick said without needing a moment to think. "I can't fire my sister."

They talked more while they ate. The usual subjects of their families, mutual friends, and the old neighborhood. Michonne noticed Rick was happy to steer the subject away from himself, Curious as she was, she didn't want to pry anymore. Tomorrow she'd call Maggie, put her on the phone with her brother, and let them talk it out.

After dinner, Rick talked her into taking a walk along the oceanfront. Even in the dark, they saw a few houses and small buildings nestled into the mountainside. They walked by several residents, all who smiled and nodded at them, either having no clue who Rick was, or not caring. Michonne could understand the appeal. Though she was never around Rick in very public spaces, she knew how much the paparazzi loved him and how freely his fans approached him or filmed him and photographed him with their smartphones.

They'd been walking along for twenty minutes when there was a lull in the conversation and Michonne focused on the sounds of the waves crashing. She couldn't remember the last time she had been at the beach, but the sound had always been one of her favorites. She felt a twinge of jealousy, thinking of Rick being able to just sit idle for three months, without even making a dent in his bank account.

When Rick suddenly stopped walking next to her, Michonne paused and turned to watch him inquisitively. He had his hands in his pockets and he nodded at somewhere behind her. Michonne turned to notice the lighthouse in the distance, bright like a ball of fire. She could also see the lights of distant sailing ships in the fog.

"Wow… creepy."

Rick chuckled. "Locals claim it's haunted."

"Of course, they do!" Michonne eyed him knowingly. "What about the hotel?"

Rick narrowed his eyes at her, smiling. "Why? Still afraid of the dark?"

Michonne blinked at him, surprised. "What are you talking about?"

"Halloween movie marathon. Junior year of High School? You squeezed my hand so tight I think you cut circulation a bit." He flexed his left hand dramatically.

"You remember that?" Michonne's voice came out faintly.

"Yep!" He smiled one of those nostalgic smiles, nodding his head, his eyes in the distance. "You were so scared it was adorable."

If she had to put a pin on an immediate emotion, it would have to be: embarrassment. Not because it embarrassed her to think of herself being scared of horror movies at sixteen, but because she had just been faking it, the whole time.

Turning away with the excuse to stare at the lighthouse again, Michonne cringed for her past-self a little bit. It was ironic he remembered that night of all nights. It had been that same night Michonne started letting go of the boy-next-door for good.

Rick's squeeze of the day had been Jessica Anderson and though they hadn't been openly dating, it was known throughout school they'd been caught making out a number of times. It was the reason Jessie couldn't go to the Halloween movie marathon Rick's parents set up for the neighborhood kids that year. She'd been grounded for getting suspended over skipping class to go do God knows what with Rick. So, when it came the time to fix who would sit next to who in the Grimes' home theater, Michonne ended up sitting at Rick's left. Now Michonne had never scared easy, but when the lights went off and Rick leaned over with that smirk of his and whispered he'd protect her if she got scared, topping it off with a flirty wink, Michonne had done the worst thing she could have done: She'd taken him at his word. All through the three movies she flinched and threw her palms over her eyes and squeaked, and leaned over towards him like a complete idiot. And Rick ate the whole thing up - the fool. Before long he was offering her his hand while chuckling, telling her she could squeeze it if it helped.

When the fourth movie started, someone sat behind them making a big fuss, causing them both to look over their shoulders. It was Jessie, sliding her jacket down her arms and giggling mischievously at the both of them.

"Whoa -How the hell did you get here?" Rick practically did a 360° turn in his seat, gaping at her.

"I snuck out, duh!" Jessie winked at him flirtingly.

"You're nuts!" Rick laughed while clearly admiring her courage.

It had been like a bucket of cold water. Michonne had wanted to vomit, ashamed of herself for having acted like a total idiot for no good reason. She had been about to stand up and offer her seat to Jessie but Rick vaulted over his chair instead and the two of them left the theater room together, laughing.

It had been a lesson well learned though. After that embarrassment, Michonne started to put her daydreams of Rick to rest. Never in a million years would she have thought he'd remember that circus she put up for him.

"I grew out of it, I promise," she joked. "You have to admit it though. It's a complete waste if that hotel isn't haunted!"

Rick laughed, catching up to her on the sidewalk. They walked and talked some more before heading back to the restaurant and to her car. They said goodnight at the hotel and she headed to her room.

Because of her afternoon nap, it took a while for Michonne to fall asleep. She stared at the ceiling, listening to the unfamiliar noises of the building and the night, the waves crashing in the distance. She thought through her next steps and her heart skipped a beat and squeezed a little when she contemplated going back home. Her lungs suddenly felt constricted, her skin felt hot and cold at once and perspiration gathered on her forehead, back of her neck, and collar. It wasn't until she'd turned on the TV and found something noisy to drown her thoughts that she was able to finally sleep.


	4. No Definite Answers

When Michonne woke up she had that horrible feeling of not knowing where she was for a few seconds. Daylight glared into the room through the ineffective milky-white curtains, grumbling, she rolled onto her stomach and reached for her phone on the bedside table. She'd slept way past the reasonable hour. It was almost eleven in the morning.

Getting through her morning routine, she called the front desk to find out what manner of breakfast there was if there was any. Within minutes, Dale brought her French toast, two bacon slices, and a cup of coffee. The coffee was hot and robust, the bacon was crispy, but the French toast was cold and soggy. Michonne knew she'd brought that upon herself. She nibbled on the bacon as she got dressed.

The sky was that semi-cloudy but it didn't feel too cold. When she spied through the window and saw a lonely Rick facing the beach on the sidewalk, she decided to join him and get down to business. He was still standing there when she stepped outside with his hands in his pockets. It was low tide, and the water and waves seemed very distant.

Michonne took in his relaxed attire of dark grey jeans, and what looked like a beaten old, brown t-shirt - and no shoes, he'd folded the cuffs of his jeans so his calves showed. She wondered if he'd been wetting his toes earlier.

"Hey Mr. Hollywood!" she said by way of greeting as she approached him.

Rick looked over his shoulder, one eyebrow lifting in acknowledgment of her teasing. He was quiet until she stood right next to him, in front of a low wall separating the sidewalk from the beach sand.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked politely.

"Eh… I slept," she shrugged. "but man, that Concorde breakfast is five-star," she joked.

Rick chuckled, finally turning his face to look at her. He had that enviably relaxed thing about him again, but his eyes held the truth, there was something else, something sad.

"So, umm… are you ready?" she mirrored him, shoving her hands down her pockets while thinking she's simply projecting her own melancholy onto him. "To talk to Maggie, I mean?"

Rick nodded. "Sure. We'll have to use your phone though."

"What happened to your phone?" she asked, only now noticing she hadn't seen Rick carry one at all.

"It fell in the ocean," Rick said casually.

"It fell in the ocean?" Michonne blinked. "How did that happen?"

"It happened when I dropped it from my sailboat," Rick nodded.

"On purpose?" she couldn't help the squeak of her voice.

"I'd say it was pretty intentional, yes," Rick kept nodding seriously but smiling at the end as Michonne just gaped at him.

Michonne recomposed herself as she fished her phone out of the back pocket of her jeans. They moved to sit on the low wall, their feet touching the cool, wet sand beneath. It didn't take long for Maggie to pick up and Michonne took a deep breath before speaking.

"Hey Maggie, yeah it's me. Yes, I found him," She had to pause to allow Maggie to make a series of exciting noises from the other side. "He's fine and he's right next to me so I'll just let you guys talk."

Rick took her phone in his hand with a resigned and then stoic expression on his face. "Hello," he muttered out with a deep breath, he put the phone to his ear.

Michonne stood up and gestured towards the beach to let him know where she'd be. Rick nodded, absently, probably already getting an earful. Michonne gave him some privacy, walking towards the water, stopping to kick off her flats, and swipe them up in her hand. The sand felt cool and wet beneath her feet but she didn't mind. The wind blowing from the sea was cold and salty and the skin of her naked arms was covered in goosebumps but she braced the wind and walked forward. This could be her last visit to a beach for a while. She couldn't help a shriek when the rushing cold water touched her feet, and she was glad there was no one else around to hear her. She furtively glanced over her shoulder, making sure Rick hadn't witnessed her little display.

He was still sitting on the low wall, elbows to his knees, holding her phone to his ear. She took a moment to observe him while he seemed distracted. She almost felt bad for interrupting his getaway like that, even if she couldn't blame his family for worrying. He didn't seem upset she found him though. He'd been actually surprisingly welcoming, all things considered. He'd acted almost like he'd invited her along with himself. But that was the Rick she remembered. Always obliging, modestly chivalrous, and effortlessly attentive. Rick was the kind of guy you could have met once, ten years before, and if you'd walked up to him today, he'd remember you and treat you like a close friend. He was the kind of guy who stayed friends with his exes and the kind of guy who remembered your mother's birthday. Who knows, Michonne thought, maybe with Rick, you'd never know when you were overstepping.

Maybe that's why he needed to run and hide like this.

She looked away from him at that thought, turning to face the ocean. The water looked cold and uninviting, but the view was spectacular nonetheless. She glanced around her, unsurprised to find the beach completely deserted. If Rick was right, most citizens were probably indoors playing scrabble right now.

Suddenly the wind felt like a million tiny knives on her skin, and Michonne shrunk into herself, her fingers digging into the shallow pockets of her jeans while her thin blue Georgia State t-shirt stuck to her with the force of it. Okay, so this was not fun anymore, even if it was pretty. She'd had enough with the communing with the ocean.

But as she started turning around, ready to dash back to the hotel and wait until the icicles hanging from her eyelashes melted, she saw Rick walking up to her - hair swaying in the air, eyes narrowed against the sandy wind. She couldn't admire him for long though, as her own long hair was suddenly flailing wildly around her face, obscuring her sight.

"Oh, it's really windy!" Michonne laughed, raising her arms to try and control her hair.

Unexpectedly, Rick's hands joined her efforts, gently sweeping her heavy locs away from her face and over her shoulders, he stepped closer so he could reach behind her and twist her dread-locs into a ponytail, which he held in place for her as they laughed together. He was standing terribly close, appreciating her natural scent. She could smell his wonderful scent of sandalwood and peppermint. It had been a long time since she'd been this close to a man; the closeness didn't bother him though; he simply took it in stride. His eyes and mouth smiled as she still fought the rebel strands that escaped his grasp.

"Should have probably brought a ponytail-holder…" she coyly commented.

"Turn around," Rick suggested.

Michonne did as he said and the wind immediately took care of everything, sweeping all of her hair behind her, where Rick quickly ensnared it, braided, and twisted it in his hands to fix a steadier ponytail. When he was done, he tugged at her hair gently, to indicate she could turn back around.

"Thanks…" she beamed at him, feeling her cheeks flame.

"Your phone," Rick retrieved it from his pocket and handed it back to her.

"Thanks…" Michonne stuffed it into her back pocket. "Did it go alright?" she asked gently as they started walking back, side by side.

"She's calmer now," Rick nodded.

"That's a good start." Michonne felt obliged to interject with enthusiasm.

"I really am sorry my family dragged you into this," Rick said once again, slightly less embarrassed this time. "I should have probably been better at keeping in touch. I just…" he trailed off, facing the path ahead of them.

Over the last decade as Rick's celebrity status grew, so did his growing sense of isolation, mistrust, and lack of personal privacy. Rick developed a kind of character-splitting between the 'celebrity self' and the 'authentic self,' as a survival technique in the hyperkinetic and heady atmosphere associated with celebrity. There was no true connection. When he arrived in Concorde he checked into the hotel and from then on left it all behind, unsure if he'd ever return to his former life. Michonne's arrival forced Rick into the self-reflection he had forcefully denied himself these past few months.

He had a feeling she needed some self-reflection too.

"Don't worry about it," Michonne said quickly, to spare him. "It's all fixed now, and I got to see the beach…" she shrugged.

Rick gave her a 'come-on' look and they both laughed.

"Well who needs warmness?" she shrugged again. "Certainly not you…"

Rick nodded. "I was willing to compromise...For the peace and quiet."

"I can understand that," Michonne nodded, meaning it more than he could know.


	5. Not Your Type

Boats were lining the oceanfront as far as the eye could see. Small boats, big boats, sailboats, fishing boats, old boats, new boats - and the place looked like it had more life than any other part of town she'd seen.

"So, it's a real marina," Michonne acknowledged, eyeing the nearest vessel was two silver-haired men whistled and catcalled her while raising bubbling glasses of champagne.

"Told you," Rick waved at the lively men over his shoulder.

"Friends of yours?" Michonne asked as they kept walking down the pier.

"Yes. Great guys."

There was a rowdy party going on upon a bigger boat from were classic rock music blasted from unseen speakers. Men and women, all above their sixties, having a good time.

"Oh no, they not... do I smell weed?" Michonne snorted as they walked away.

"I'm sure it's for medicinal purposes!" Rick widened his eyes in mock concern.

Michonne raised her hands, shaking her head. "Hey even if it wasn't legal, I'm off duty."

They chuckled and continued walking by more boats and several people waved at Rick, including some very pink-cheeked older ladies who, Michonne would swear to God, giggled like school girls the moment he had his back to them.

"Here we are," Rick waved at the sailboat in front of them.

"Oh wow..." Michonne paused as she took in the sight of it, bigger than most of the sailboats on the dock but still modestly sized if you considered the owner. "That's a catamaran, right?" she asked as she followed him up the steps.

"Yep," Rick turned to her and then waved around them. "We've been repairing it for over two months. Looks good though, don't you think?"

"Repairing?" her eyes widened as she took a better look around.

That was true, the boat did not look sparkling new; but it wasn't until that moment did, she noticed the smell of fresh paint and some corners looking sanded in preparation for more paint. The sails, folded as they were, looked pristine though. "You bought the boat used?"

Rick nodded. "Used, nearly condemned, same difference." when Michonne's eyes widened even more he laughed. "It wasn't that bad. It was just neglected for a few years. I never really thought about buying myself a boat at all. But suddenly the idea of having something to work on, to fix, sounded fun, you know?"

"Uh-huh..." Michonne turned around, looking at the cream-colored plush seats and shiny, smooth surfaces. It wouldn't have been her idea of fun, "…Who's we...?"

"Hershel...he was one of the fellas whistling at you…" he nodded in the direction of the party boat. "It used to be his. He thought I was crazy when I offered to buy it from him so he offered to help with the repairs. Plus, he taught me how to sail."

"Nice... I can see what's been keeping you now." It was better than thinking of him staying in that dreary hotel and moping on the beach for three months.

"Come have a better look," Rick waved her along, taking the steps to the upper deck where they had a nice view of everything. He showed her below deck as well where she was impressed with the work he'd done. Maybe she should get this Hershel guy and Rick to redo her living room.

Hershel had made sure the engine was in perfect condition before he sold it to Rick. The exterior of the boat needed new sails and some touch-up paint on a few areas. It was the interior of the boat that was in need of some repairs. With the helping hand of Hershel Greene, Rick had removed, replaced, and varnish most of the floorboards. All of the cabinet's hinges required replacement and varnish, same with the drawers. Single-handedly, Rick removed and replaced the piping in the kitchenette and bathroom, installing trendy faucets and fixtures throughout. He did the same for the outdated lighting, tables, and the furniture's upholstery replacing them with modern, contemporary pieces.

When they returned to the upper deck, Rick went into his mini-fridge and they cracked open a couple of beers, Michonne could see the pride simmering beneath the surface when Rick talked about his handy work.

Fixing the boat made him happy for a while, but the feeling had begun to decline. Seeing Michonne's reaction, renewed him and he felt joy again.

"It's nice! Did you take it out for a spin yet?"

"We've been too focused on repairs but we did sail some so I could learn."

"Where do you plan to keep it?" Michonne asked offhandedly, taking another sip of her beer. But she could see the question was harder to answer than she'd thought.

Rick frowned thoughtfully as he looked down at the deck floor. Leaning back against the rail as he was, he'd looked relaxed. But tension quickly appeared on his shoulders as he pondered her question, swishing the beer in his mouth slowly before swallowing.

"I don't know," he admitted with a shrug as he looked around them. "Guess I hadn't thought that far."

Michonne nodded, thinking of his impromptu extended vacation.

_Did he see an end date at all? Was he reading any scripts? Or had he just walked out one day and decided he'd see how long he could just be by himself? And God why did that sound so wonderful? Would I do this if I could pull it off...?_

As if in response to her unvoiced question, her phone vibrated in her pocket. She swept it up automatically.

 **Abe Ford** : Taylor, seriously what's going on?

Abraham was checking in again, slightly more concerned since she hadn't replied last night. With a sigh Michonne pocketed her phone again, still offering no response.

"Hey, is everything alright?" He asked Michonne, thankful for being saved by the ringing of her phone.

She looked up to find Rick watching her - a small frown on his forehead. God had her feelings been plain as day on her face? She noticed his eyes dropping to her neck and realized he'd probably seen the vein jumping just under her skin as her heart accelerated.

"Yeah!" she laughed nervously, innocently rubbing her hand just over the throbbing spot to conceal it. "It's just Abe," Why did she say that? It invited so many questions.

"Your partner?" Rick asked, but he was already nodding, he knew who Abe was even if they'd never personally met.

"Yup."

"Work calling?"

"Nah, just saying hello."

"Let's go back below and you can call him," his eyes taking on an even more inquisitive expression as they roamed freely over her face.

Michonne was relieved, he didn't ask anything else, "I need to do some stuff...see about things..."

Having no idea what that meant, Michonne just nodded and followed him down the steps, finding herself a comfortable seat while Rick disappeared somewhere deeper into the belly of the boat. He'd said his car had been at the marina. Maybe he'd been sleeping in the boat too?

She sat, peeking over her shoulder through the windows at the view of the dull sky. She could see the wind growing harsher, the water getting more agitated - even below her she felt the boat undulate. This was no tropical paradise - yet its inhabitants didn't seem to notice.

Her phone buzzed again in her back pocket and she shifted to pick it up, ready to tell Abe that whatever it was it could wait or he could handle it. But it was Maggie. She frowned and hesitantly answered her phone.

"Yeah, hi…" she looked in the direction Rick had disappeared to. "What's up?"

"What's up? You tell me what's up!" Maggie piped back impatiently.

"Didn't you just talk to him?" Michonne shook her head utterly confused.

"Yeah, but he was vague and unhelpful! What's he doing over there...Concorde, right? I googled the place, Michonne! It's nothing there!"

"Well…" Michonne hesitated, thinking of the partying retirees a few boats down. "Not exactly."

Maggie continued to talk, more like squeaked and Michonne breathed deeply. Every family had someone like Maggie. In Michonne's family, that someone had been Aunt Jacqui, God rest her soul.

"Hey, deep breaths. He's fine. He bought a boat. That's what's been keeping him busy. He bought a used boat and he's been working on it. He looks relaxed. Your brother's just really doing what he says, he's taking some time off and doing things that relax him. Trust me." She wanted to add that part about how he was an adult and all, but it would probably be too much for his sister's frazzled nerves. Aunt Jac never really took people being adults as proof that she shouldn't tell them what to do either. To her surprise though there was only a long silence on the other side before she heard Maggie taking what sounded like a big, relieved breath.

"He bought a boat…?"

"Yes, a sailboat, a catamaran to be precise and he's done a fantastic DIY... I'm on it right now!"

"Rick doesn't have a boating license…" Maggie retorted though her tone was less desperate now.

"Not a lot of states require one to have a license. He has someone teaching him though."

"Huh…" Maggie went silent.

"Yeah… he's alright, Maggie. Hey, even if he's working some things out, he's allowed, right?"

Another long, thoughtful pause.

"Yes, yes of course he is."

Wow, she hadn't thought it'd be this easy.

"I- I'm sorry I'm just overreacting," Maggie sighed. "He's never… relaxed before, you know?"

Michonne laughed, nodding even though her friend couldn't see her. "Yeah, I know."

They exchanged a few more friendly words and ended the call. Michonne got up and climbed to the upper deck, just wanting a better view of the gathering clouds. She leaned over the rail and watched the other boats bobbing up and down in the water. She was glad she wasn't prone to seasickness.

"Oh, there you are…" Rick surged from downstairs, to her surprise he was empty-handed.

"Hey…" she turned fully to face him. "Full disclosure: Maggie called me. But I think I put her at ease."

Rick arched his eyebrows, nodding. "I expected her to do something like this. I'm sorry…"

Michonne waved him away. "It's fine. I have a brother. I understand."

Rick smiled and nodded. "So. It's past lunchtime. Have you been to a yacht party before?" He gestured to the steps on the bow leading to the pier.

"Uhm… yeah a few times actually…" Michonne shrugged, thinking of her ex-boyfriend Negan Dubois and his expensive toys.

"Ah yes…" Rick said behind her, a teasing tone to his voice. "The Frenchman."

Michonne looked over her shoulder surprised. "You met Negan?"

"Fourth of July party at your parents a few years ago. I think you got called in at the last minute. He was there though."

"Oh yeah…" Michonne nodded, remembering the date vaguely. They were walking side by side on the pier now, heading away from Rick's sailboat and the others she'd seen.

"Well yeah, he had a yacht. He loved his parties."

"He would have a freakin yacht…" Rick muttered under his breath, but the corners of his lips showed he was teasing.

Michonne laughed. "Not impressed, huh?"

"Oh, no, he was very impressive!" Rick chuckled and then shrugged. "He just…"

"What?" Michonne asked curiously. She never knew what Rick thought of any of her exes. It had never been a topic of conversation.

Negan had been almost unanimously hated by his family and friends, so she was curious as to his opinion.

"He didn't seem like your type," he shrugged.

Michonne's eyes widened in surprise, making him laugh. "I have a type?"

"Everybody has a type," he shrugged again.

"What's my type?" Michonne asked laughing, her mind surging with curiosity.

Rick hesitated to answer, looking somewhere ahead of them, he honestly thought Michonne was too good for Negan, she was too good for any of those guys...even him. "They have to make you laugh; you love to laugh."

Michonne opened her mouth to respond and laughed, shaking her head. She supposed that was true. She usually went for the smart, goofy types - smart and goofy was just… sexy as hell.

"Negan wasn't fun, you're saying?"

"I talked to him for maybe five minutes…" Rick admitted with a shrug. "He tried...But he seemed too intense and…"

"And?"

"Old...Older…" he shrugged. Rick recalled the moment he saw them walk into The Taylor's backyard that the guy holding Michonne's hand was not her type.

Michonne nodded. "He was older than me by ten years, yeah."

"What happened to him anyway?" Rick asked.

"Last I heard he got into some European car racing thing…" Michonne shrugged and thought about it; it was true, they hadn't had a lot in common.

Rick nodded, all that older man suaveness must have been the appeal.

"So, what's your type?" she prodded him, suddenly very curious herself.

"Hmmm…"

It was cute how much he looked like he didn't want to answer that question. Then Michonne thought of how many times he probably had to answer that question in silly interviews over the years and she wishes she hadn't asked.


	6. Kris Kristofferson's Boat

Michonne quickly changed the subject, "Where's this yacht anyway? I'm losing the all feeling in my fingers and toes!" she rubbed her hands together for effect, though, to be honest, she was getting legitimately cold, and she'd left her only jacket in her car. The spring breeze carries fine drops, each one a promise of the rain to come. As newly chilled air moves the clouds, streaks of brilliance breakthrough from a persistent sun.

"It's right over there…" Rick said as they walked around a pile of parked jet-skis. He was slightly embarrassed, he had forgotten to check his bag to see if he had a jacket for Michonne to borrow, he'd gotten distracted by a noticeable loose hinge he'd need to see about.

The yacht, about fifty feet, was beautiful, yet modest – compared to Negan's one hundred feet mega-yacht. Negan had also been a big show-off and made sure he always had bigger and better than anyone else in his circle.

The number of people currently populating this yacht caught Michonne by surprise. She thought the boat party down the pier had been unexpected - she had been wrong. There were well over a dozen people on board, several waved and hollered at them. Rick casually waved back.

"Who are these people?" Michonne snorted, following him up the ramp.

"The rich side of Concorde," Rick explained, "Private property, belongs to the silver fox over there," he nodded towards a large group. He was impressed by the turn out as well. His new acquaintance had told him a few weeks ago that his party would be the first of the big Springtime festivities.

Although several men and women could be labeled 'silver foxes'; it was easy to single out who he'd meant. Michonne peered at the distinguished long-haired man, sitting in his plush lean-back chair; he held a glass of something probably more expensive than it was reasonable looking like a king holding court. The silver-haired man was talking to two other older men who were accompanied by fancy-dressed women. Younger women, unsurprisingly. Not younger than herself, if she was guessing right, but still certainly younger than the men they were accompanying.

"Ah, Rick! You could join us after all!" The Kris Kristofferson look-alike was happy to see his new friend, he stood up gracefully -donning a tailored, white button-up shirt with several buttons undone, white slacks, and glossy white loafers.

"I got hungry," Rick shrugged with that easy casual way of his, and 'Kris' and his guests laughed, charmed by him.

"This is my friend Michonne, I thought I'd feed her too," Rick gestured her closer.

"Hello, Michonne Taylor," Michonne smiled brightly and shook hands with 'Kris' and the hand full of people around him. She soon discovered 'Kris' name was Greg. Just Greg. No one seemed to have a last-name anywhere.

"So, how's the sailboat coming along?" Greg asked Rick conversationally as he led them towards the fully stocked bar and wonderful smelling buffet table.

"It's coming along nicely. Not a whole lot left to do." Rick was happy to announce.

Michonne just listened in and wondered if that meant Rick would finally go back home once, he was finished. The subject, however, quickly changed to other topics - Greg's party guests, the copious amount of top-shelf liquor, and an impending storm coming from the Atlantic.

It was easier to mingle than she would have thought, mostly because everyone was so fascinated by the fact, she worked in law enforcement. Before she knew it Michonne was sitting in a circle of fancily dressed women, mostly elderly, some in their fifties. She discovered; this was the tenth annual celebration of the yacht Alexandria, named after Greg's late wife. Greg's yacht and his guests were not staying but would start cruising very soon.

The food was better than anything she'd eaten since her arrival, so she took full advantage of it; noshing on savory grilled filet mignon kabobs, smoked Brie, warm Bruschetta, and fresh vegetables with cucumber garlic dill Tzatziki all the while she answered a woman named Carol's easy questions. Carol was an aspiring author, very interested in asking law-related questions - she wanted to go into the crime and mystery genre.

"Well, I have to say it…" another one of the younger women, probably in her age bracket, scooted closer when Carol left her to get a refill. "You're sure a lucky lady!" she winked and looked over her shoulder, to where Rick was sipping a beer and talking to two other guests; both of whom had drunk way past their fill and were laughing loudly and gesturing dramatically.

"I am...?" Michonne was confused for a moment until she caught the shared smirk between the woman who asked her the question and her friend. "...Oh! Oh no!" Michonne shook her head vehemently. "No, no, no!" she laughed nervously. The last thing she wanted was some rumor about Rick and her on Greg's yacht party or something like that. "Rick and I are old friends...known him since kindergarten. Practically related!" she exaggerated a little. She cringed internally.

"Oh...! I thought...well never mind what I thought." the women shared another curious look. The one who asked the question looked slightly confused. Michonne took a nervous sip of her Sangiovese, and while the awkward silence prevailed, she popped her last chocolate covered strawberry in her mouth and washed it down with more wine; she doubted they were looking at this as an opportunity. They were there as companions for other men. But perhaps they had been looking for a little hot gossip. Rick was an A-lister who hadn't been heard from in a while or romantically linked with anyone for over a year. Suddenly Michonne became paranoid about cell phones. She started eyeing the women's hands for one, looking for camera flashlights or anything. To her relief there was none, all the people here seemed to be truly enjoying each other's company.

Carol came back just in time with more questions for Michonne, which fortunately steered the topic in different directions. Michonne escaped the group as soon as nature called and had to walk a little and go up a set of stairs before finding Rick again.

He was by himself, leaning against the rail, watching something on the horizon. As Michonne stepped closer, she realized what'd caught his attention was an approaching lightning storm. The clouds quickly gathered, a silver-fade, from the strongest of grey to soft whites; the silver hues were like molten silver, swirling in steady and radiating ripples.

"Wow, it's coming this way, huh?" she said as she joined him.

"Yeah. Storms here can last long but they're not too bad. You'll see." Rick looked down at her arms when he noticed her shivering. "Are you still cold?"

"Yeah, aren't you," Michonne rubbed her arms, her thin blue college T-shirt offered no warmth whatsoever. Although the temperature had dropped considerably and Rick was still wearing his worn-out brown t-shirt and jeans, he was not even slightly cold.

Rick pulled back from the rail. "Not at all, come on let's start heading back so you can warm up. Besides, I've had my fill of these people already," his eyes widened comically. This was perfect, he found that Michonne's company was all he really wanted to have.

Michonne laughed. "Yeah! Tell me about it."

They said goodbye to everyone, some of whom were already retreating to below deck where things were less windy and warmer, and made their way back to the pier.

Rick enjoyed seeing Michonne have a good time with the elite residents of Concorde. He wondered if she was always so easy going with everyone she encountered or was she like him, good at pretending, putting on that causal facade, hiding all that was wrong deep inside. He knew that in her line of work she had to play a role, a professional, even-tempered with an unwavering demeanor. But at the end of the day, she could turn that off, have a beer with friends and be Michonne. As a Federal agent, she has total anonymity. He, on the other hand, felt as if 'character Rick' and 'real-life Rick' was one and the same. He was always in a role, when someone met him, they did not see him, they saw the character, the person they wanted him to be and he would never be truly seen for who he is.

Halfway back to the sailboat, rainfall surprised them, and they had to start running. The rain was sudden, sharp, and cold as it fell constantly, an infinite bucket of water being poured down from the heavens.

Rick grabbed her hand, the puddling water made things slippery especially where the planks were grimy. They climbed the steps, careful not to slip, and dove inside below deck as fast as they could, Rick pulled the glass door closed behind them to keep the wind out.

"Shit that was cold!" Michonne gasped turning around, to look at Rick, he was soaked from head to toe. Every muscle on his torso flowing from the light into the dark with every move giving away his strength and with a well-toned body. All those defined muscles and rigid abs sticking to his wet t-shirt were a bit indecent. After all these years, his body is still drool-worthy, his physique constantly admired by the opposite sex, and still fired the envy of younger men. For a few seconds, she forgot to breathe.


	7. Storms of the Heart

"I have towels…" Rick panted as he slipped his soaked shoes off by the entrance and quickly walked past her. The yearning to touch her skin became almost unbearable. He smiled at his own foolishness; it was not until now that he realized she did not have on an ounce of make-up. He doubted that she even uses face masks or expensive products.

She had a kind of understated beauty, perhaps it was because she was so disarmingly unaware of her prettiness. Her dark skin was completely flawless, so tempting to touch; every move giving away her strength and with a well-toned and shapely body, her physique was admired by the opposite sex, and still provoking the envy of women half her age. She was all about simplicity, making things easy, helping those around her to relax and be happy with what they have. Perhaps that's why her skin glowed so, it was her inner beauty that lit her eyes and softened her features. When she smiled and laughed you couldn't help but smile along too. When she smiled, he wanted it to be directed towards him, for him, because of him. He wanted to bring her joy, to be the source of all her joy. Over the years he'd watched her bring so much joy to those around her, the moment she arrived he too felt her warmth. He didn't quite understand what was happening, falling in love with her was not planned. They were supposed to be friends, just he and she, and nothing in between. But the stars aligned and a great force pulled them together. And he had to accept it because he couldn't help it.

Seeing Rick's wet t-shirt made Michonne suddenly aware of her own wet clothes, but Rick was polite enough not to stare - clearly more polite than her, who had to force her eyes up north.

He opened a set of knee-high cupboards and pulled out two fluffy turquoise towels, tossing her one. Michonne immediately folded it around herself, surprised by how warm it felt - perhaps she was just so cold.

"Here, follow me…" Rick led her down the left corridor, lower still into the boat.

It didn't feel claustrophobic in there anymore, it felt warm and intimate. Michonne stood back as Rick pushed open a door and waved her inside. "Shower's decent and warm. I don't want you to get sick."

Michonne stepped inside curiously. The bedroom hadn't been part of the earlier tour. The dimly lit bedroom was small but cozy. The bed was king-sized, adorned with a plush navy blue comforter and big white pillows. Rick opened the door to the bathroom and pointed at the rack and heater right next to the toilet.

"Hang your clothes over there they'll be dry in no time. Meet me back at the table when you're done."

"Sure, uh…" Michonne nodded. "Thanks, Rick."

He smiled, still keeping his eyes in line with her own, and nodded before retreating and closing the door behind him.

The shower was more than decent. It had more pressure than the shower in the hotel and the water temperature was perfect. She was starting to think Rick had missed his calling as a 'DIY guy'. She almost didn't want to leave. But then she thought of Rick all by himself in his wet clothes and after only a few minutes, she switched the water off. The guy deserved his own hot shower.

"Hey, the shower…" Michonne halted when she found Rick tucked in one of the side booths looking warm and cozy in a blue sweater and black sweats - he smelled of minty shampoo. "...is free…" she laughed. "I see you're good though."

He smiled appreciatively at Michonne covered in only a towel, now freely trailing his eyes over her, taking in her flawless face and sexy body once again. After a moment of gazing, he reached into a backpack next to him, Michonne realized that had been what he'd come here for earlier, and produced a soft-looking, gray sweater he started handing to her.

"Here. It's clean."

Michonne smiled, stepping closer to accept the offering. It was bulky and soft and when she pulled it over her head she was overwhelmed by delicious warmth and the scent of him. That wonderful sandalwood and Bergamot - she inhaled discreetly, careful to not deliberately sniff his sweater in front of him. He'd think she was nuts and she wouldn't even blame him. She couldn't keep from wrapping her arms around herself though and just shuddering at the cozy, warm feeling. The sweater was huge on her so it felt almost like a cozy comforter with sleeves.

"Thanks… it's excellent." she immediately felt 'it's excellent' sounded like such a strange comment to make.

But she had to say something because he was watching her far too closely - he too was assessing the results of her wearing his sweater, her beauty was incredible; his heart was falling for her by the second.

"Sit, we'll have to wait this out," he tapped the table to indicate she should take a seat.

Michonne nodded, sliding across from him into the cozy booth. As she settled, she noticed how the boat rose and fell along with the storm agitated waters.

"Wow…" she chuckled. "I'm glad you're good with repairs - how would this thing have fared before you got your hands on it?"

Rick shrugged with a laugh. "It must have weathered down dozens of these storms, docked right here over the years - so I guess it would have fared fine."

Michonne nodded. "When you put it that way…"

There was silence for a moment in which Michonne was again struck by the effect of him, so broad in small spaces, smelling wonderful like he did. She was happy they'd only had sporadic contact over the years. She felt as though there was such a thing as too much exposure to temptation.

"Here, this will warm you up…"

Rick slid an empty whiskey glass towards her and poured a dark liquid from a non-descript glass bottle, only then drawing her attention to the fact he'd been drinking by himself. She knew that rich smell and after taking a sip, she smiled.

"Your father's favorite cognac…Hennessy…"

Rick nodded. "He does have good taste."

"He does." Michonne took another sip, already appreciating how warmth traveled from her mouth to her extremities. Her cheeks felt warm and flush, "Had you been sleeping in here?" Michonne asked nodding at the backpack sitting next to him.

Rick nodded, swirling the liquid in his whiskey glass, "Every now and then, when I'd got the plumbing and heating fixed. Sometimes the work kept me so distracted it was late before I realized it. I got used to it too…" he shrugged. "It's like being swayed to sleep."

"Right…swaying…" Michonne felt the boat rocking and rolling underneath her.

Rick laughed. "Are you going to be sick?"

"No…" she laughed too. "I'm fine, it's just…different."

"I'll be honest this storm might last all night and we might have no choice." If he could get his way the storm would last all year.

Michonne nodded. "That's alright. I mean, can't be worse than that hotel bed."

"Yeah, now that I've fixed it up and if you don't mind small spaces, I think my accommodations are better."

"It's hard to think of you going furniture shopping for a sailboat in a place like this."

"Well, my rich friends helped," he winked jokingly.

"Right, your rich friends who are taking off soon," Michonne took another warming sip - enjoying the tingling sensation on her fingers and toes. "You going with them?"

"Nah… it's a limited amount of time I can stomach those people. Greg is alright though."

"Kris Kristofferson …" Michonne said under her breath.

Rick snapped his fingers and slapped the table. "That's who he reminds me of! Thank you! That had been killing me since I met the dude!"

They laughed and poured another round of drinks. Rick found a deck of cards that had belonged to Hershel; the deck was so worn the only game they could play was Go Fish.

Outside rain kept pouring and the ocean kept jostling the boat.

"You know what this reminds me of?" Michonne asked at one point.

"ATL Camp-Ins?" Rick lifted an eyebrow but kept his eyes on his cards. "Got any nines?"

"Go Fish. Yeah."

"I was thinking the same thing," Rick smiled as he picked a new card.

Their school had promoted several camp-ins. There were a lot of stories from those times they could share, and probably several they could surprise each other with. They hung out with the same group in general, but they weren't always together. Sometime boys and girls had to stay on separate sides of campus and participate in different games and activities.

"Did you ever go to any of the reunions?" Rick asked curiously.

"God no!" Michonne laughed. "Please tell me you did!"

Rick shook his head. "Couldn't pay me to do it. And be Mr. Celebrity? No thanks."

"You were voted most likely to become a Hollywood star." she teased him.

"Your turn, Miss Hall Monitor," he teased back.

Michonne scoffed and looked down to stare at her cards.

Just then, the familiar buzzing, which usually came from her back pocket, distracted her from the corner of the table where she'd deposited her phone. She watched it while it buzzed and hopped slowly towards the edge. At the last second, she snapped and reached for it, just before it fell to the ground. Her phone had already had too many collisions - one more and it would be a phone no longer. She couldn't keep her hand from trembling as she swiped her screen to check her message. Of course, it was from Abe, although, it seemed like it could have been from anyone and she'd have had the same reaction. The phone reminded her of work and work reminded her of what happened. She felt her breathing and heart rate change and tried her best to conceal it as she focused on reading. Nothing new, another concerned message, a mention of his wife Rosita and how they both wished she'd been there for the cookout. Michonne quickly swiped it away, mentally apologizing to him for not responding yet again.

"S… sorry…" her voice was barely there as she put the phone aside, facing down so it would be silent.

When she looked back at Rick, ready to go back to the game she froze, the air in her lungs freezing with her.

Rick was watching her closely again, that expression she'd seen before but had no idea what it meant.

"Abe?" he asked, his voice quiet.

"Yeah…" she laughed nervously, shuffling her cards in her hands. "He's a pester, much worse than my Mom."

Rick nodded, eyes dropping to Michonne's trembling fingers.

"How long has that been going on for?"

"What?" she looked up at him, confused.

Rick hesitated, not wanting to upset her by saying it. But it had to be said, he wanted to help her, to return the favor. She's helped him in so many ways.

"The anxiety attacks; the trembling… How long have they been going on for?"

Michonne knew her face must have been in a frozen state, at least now she was too surprised to tremble, or breathe erratically. She wasn't breathing at all. This was the last conversation she wanted to have with anyone - least of all an old friend who knew most of her family - the family she'd been keeping in the dark about her PTSD for months.

"Uhm... maybe a year."

Rick nodded. "And how long since you stopped with your medication?" Michonne arched an eyebrow now, almost annoyed. "You wouldn't be drinking if you were taking your meds," Rick nodded at her empty glass.

Michonne stared at it. It was true. She hadn't even thought of it. She usually didn't drink much anyway. Stopping altogether hadn't been hard. If she thought about it, she only ever drank now when someone offered her a drink, even though she had quit her meds voluntarily.

Michonne shrugged. "I don't know… a few weeks I think."

Rick nodded back but refrained from making any comments, which she appreciated. An awkward silence fell between them and he took a gulp of his drink.

"Sleep then?" Rick offered after a moment. He longed to hold her, comfort her in the only way he knew how.

"Yeah…" Michonne cleared her throat as her voice now sounded as though it hadn't been used for years. "Good idea..." She took the final sip of her beverage.

She felt awkward and uncomfortable, Rick had actually pissed her off. It was mean to have such a thought, but she had it anyway - Rick was the one supposed to be a mess in recovery, not her! With that bitter, embarrassing morsel rattling inside her head, she followed him around, trying to get her stupid hands to stop shaking. She'd come over to be helpful and useful, and suddenly she felt under scrutiny.


	8. Rock the Boat

She let out a satisfied sigh as she sank into the coziness of the plush mattress, he got into bed and pulled the fleece blanket to cover them. "Goodnight darling," he said and kissed her.

It had been the sweetest kiss. Tentative at first, he needed to make sure that was what she wanted. He'd stopped briefly, opening his eyes and searching hers. Michonne's gaze gave him the confidence to go on.

And then oh, what a kiss!

It was pure-tasting, slow, wet, and so hot. The kind of toe-curling kiss that can take you from zero to one hundred in three seconds flat. They had touched, but over their clothes only and within respectable boundaries.

For the first time in years, Michonne had fallen asleep with a man without there having been sex, and yet it felt like a bigger, more serious step than it had ever been any of those times she ended up naked in a tangle of sheets with men she had intentionally fallen into bed with. On the list of things Michonne never thought would happen in her lifetime, waking up as the little spoon to Rick's big spoon was right up there with finding proof of alien life and Sasquatch. Yet that's where she'd woken up that morning. She smiled thinking back to the night before.

For maybe about five seconds she didn't move, didn't blink, didn't breathe. What was the protocol for the morning after you made out with the boy next door, twenty-five years after you dreamed about it? Michonne didn't know. Rick wasn't a boy, and she was not a girl anymore. The awkwardness wasn't cute when you're forty-something.

Michonne felt as if she was one with the boat now, swaying and bobbing dizzily over the agitated sea. She had been so comfortable before in a world where she and Rick were friends, distant friends most of the time. She had no idea how to navigate this new world where she knew what his kiss was like.

Rick stirred behind her just as she started contemplating what would the holidays be like between them now...? cutting short her inner panicking. She felt him move, his chest at her back expanded on a breath – his left arm, which had been resting over her waist like a dead weight, now moved. She expected him to fully roll away from her but he didn't. He seemed to inch closer just a little bit, his nose brushing against her neck while his hand found her hip and kneaded gently.

"Morning, Chonne" he mumbled sleepily.

Her heart melted a little bit. He sounded adorable first thing in the morning. Damn. She'd have to rip the Band-Aid out.

"Good morning Rick!" she said as she rolled onto her back and turned her head to face him.

Ugh, no that hadn't helped at all. He smiled at her with that sleepy face. He had half-lidded eyes still misty with sleep. His overgrown hair was now an even fluffier mess on his forehead that made her want to run her fingers through it like she'd done last night. The scruff on his face was just a little bit thicker – she remembered how it'd burned deliciously against her skin and sighed involuntarily.

Damn, holidays would never be the same again. Ugh.

"You alright?" he asked, blinking sleep from his eyes. Rick could not get enough of her, she looked into him as if she knew his desires. And her body, he almost couldn't sleep, his imagination ran wild, there was no focus, only desire and the pain of yearning. The body chemistry is off the charts; she is somehow both lit TNT and a fine bottle of wine.

Michonne nodded, not trusting herself to say anything. She couldn't help but devour him with her eyes. He looked edible. She was sure she looked, unlike the actresses' slash supermodels he woke up next to over the years. Dwarfed inside his sweater, hair in need of some grooming, not a stitch of leftover makeup on her face meaning her eyes were puffy and lips were chapped. Not sexy at all. But like a forty-two-year-old federal agent facing forced early retirement and spinsterhood.

Michonne had been so mortified contemplating Rick's mortification at her appearance, she was caught by surprise when he bopped the tip of her nose with his finger. She blinked her eyes back to his face, arching her eyebrows at his little frown.

"What?" she breathed like a kid caught off guard by a teacher singling them out for a question in school.

"You looked terrified there for a second," he frowned at her, eyes traveling over her face, looking for signs. "You're okay," he assured her. He would make sure of it.

Michonne laughed at herself. Internally she felt bad for making him worry... She sighed, shaking her head.

"Sorry...I- I've just never done this with you, I'm a little lost."

"Done… what with me?" he arched his eyebrows curiously, a mischievous smile tugged at his lips. The thought of what could have been playing in his mind so vividly.

"Had an awkward morning after?" she shrugged and rolled over on her side so their bodies aligned.

Michonne was always at her best when she was fearlessly honest. She wasn't fearless where Rick was concerned. But God, did she feel better just being honest about it.

"Oh yeah?" He smiled more now. Sleep still prevailed, but he was clearly amused. "I don't know, I kind of like it." He amended, eyes dropping to her mouth deliberately, hoping, praying she liked it too.

"You do?" Michonne's eyebrows went higher.

Rick grasped her chin between his fingers and tilted her mouth towards his before giving her a good morning kiss. With the kiss came the smooth touch of her body, poised, just the right blend of relaxation and tension. She didn't have much time to worry about her morning breath – it was brief and soon he was pulling away slightly to brush the tip of his nose with hers while he closed his eyes and sighed, a satisfied smile on that sexy mouth of his.

Mission accomplished, beautiful Michonne is relaxed in his arms, "Morning after what exactly, Miss Taylor?" he teased; his sleepy eyes still closed.

Michonne bit her lip hard to keep from reacting too noisily, but she had to shove her nose into the crook of his neck and then they were laughing. Rick's chest was shaking beneath her, his hands rubbing up and down her back while he kept her close. He loved making her laugh, that was her medicine and his.

"I guess it could have been more awkward…" she joked, enjoying too much that he was holding her now.

"Mm-hmm. I'd like more awkward…" Rick agreed. "We could go for full-blown weird…" he laughed into her hair.

Michonne didn't know if she wanted to melt into a delighted puddle because Rick insinuated, he wanted to have sex with her or if she wanted to die of embarrassment because they were talking about this in the first place. She remained in the safety of the crook of his neck, enjoying his hands rubbing up and down her back lazily, blunt nails scratching a delicious path over her sensitive skin. Even underneath the thick fabric of his clothes, she could feel his touch as though she was naked.

Nestled into him as she was, she had only to wind her arms around him and breathe him in. Michonne closed her eyes, sighing softly, thinking no morning had ever felt so perfect. She felt Rick's fingers massaging her hair and her scalp, and she wanted to purr. She might have. She couldn't tell. Because she was still dizzy from every second she spent in his arms, and then suddenly he was tugging her hair back and angling her mouth for another sensual kiss. She was losing herself in it when they heard footsteps on the deck above. Michonne pulled away, looking up at the skylight just as a shadow moved past it.

"What the…?"

Rick sighed, "That'll be Hershel…" he started rolling away from her, "...it's his usual time...I think he left his Miter- saw too."

"Oh…" Michonne quickly scuttled away from the skylight, the thought he could have seen them a moment ago caused her to fret for a whole new reason.

Famous guy. She was making out with a famous guy and someone might have seen it, Oh Hell!

"It's okay, stay here, I'll get rid of him," Rick said calmly before turning around and leaving the room.

Just staying there didn't seem like a good idea. Michonne jumped to her feet and scrambled to find her actual clothes. It would be her third day in them, but hell, she couldn't be sexy wearing his huge sweatpants and sweater, could she? Dammit, she couldn't be sexy in her own clothes either! She checked herself in the mirror in the tiny bathroom and groaned. Her hair was a mess, although her clothes had dried, they were wrinkled and gross.

Michonne was about as vain as any girl – when it suited her. Most of the time, she was a practical one. She spent her days in dark pantsuits, sports bras, cotton panties, and flat shoes. Makeup and sexy lingerie were for special occasions only – for when she had dates or nights out with her girlfriends, who acted personally offended if she turned up in anything less than a little black dress and designer stilettos.

She hadn't packed anything like that for this short trip. She hadn't anticipated needing to look good for a guy. Especially not this guy. Now in her three-day worn jeans and Georgia State -shirt, she looked more ready to slouch on the couch and binge-watch episodes of Dexter than she did for cozying up to Mr. Sexiest Man Alive – Ugh. What had she been thinking?

_Was it too late to fake amnesia?_

Michonne braced herself against the sink and rubbed at her forehead, taking a deep breath. She couldn't let her head go that way. Michonne had never suffered from low self-esteem. She liked how she looked and had never needed anyone else's validation where appearance was concerned. No, she wasn't anxious about not reaching Rick's standards. Ultimately it wasn't about why her, it was just about why now? What the hell had flipped twenty-five years later?

_Look at that vein in your forehead woman..._

No, no, no. Thinking, way too hard. She yanked the door open and left the bathroom.

She walked out onto the deck and was greeted with another cloudy morning – partly, cloudy. The clouds were still white with hardly a trace of grey above was an almost unbroken layer of white and light grey, brilliant where the sunshine broke through and dark where it did not.

Rick was waving, at Hershel leaving, so Michonne stood back, fighting not to rub frantically at her forehead. When he turned to see her, he first looked surprised that she'd changed, then he smiled, approaching with languid steps and a glint in his eyes.

"Hey, darling...you going somewhere?" he asked, invading her space and forcing her to back up against the rail.

"Uhm..." she babbled as the handsome man was suddenly right there, all up in her business, hands grabbing onto the rails and caging her in. "uhm…well…"

He grinned at her, in that unbearably sexy way of his, that made her think he knew exactly how nervous he made the women around him. She hated that he was using it against her now.

She pouted and it made him laugh.

"Don't go…" he whispered, his smile turning serious, his eyes seeking hers earnestly. She had no idea the power she has over him.

"Wha…?" Michonne blinked, getting whiplash from playful-confident Rick to pleading-smoldering Rick.

Rick smiled again, nuzzling her temple and wrapping his arms around her waist. "Please stay here, I don't want you to leave me." In her eyes, he sees home. In her soul, there is the kind of passion that brings solace to his fire, enough to bring out the earthen nature and claim his heart.

Michonne's hands reached for his shoulders mechanically while her mouth gaped a little. She closed her eyes when he squeezed her against his chest and sighed. The man didn't play fair.

"Okay…" she said softly against his chest, winding her arms around his waist and squeezing back.

She didn't know what she'd been expecting. Maybe she'd spent too many years not expecting anything at all. But his request made her knees buckle and complying just came as easy as breathing. She didn't know what this was, but damn, it felt like she didn't want to give it up either.


	9. Stuff and Things Change

"Do you have anything to eat, I'm kind of hungry," Michonne shyly asked; She felt him brush a loc back with his fingers, and felt her face flush.

"Do you like stale cornflakes with no milk," He teased, kissing her forehead gently, he waited a moment expecting a snarky response, but surprisingly there was none, "I know where to get us something great," He said after a moment and held her for a few more moments enjoying the beautiful, soft woman in his arms; until he finally forced himself to let her go.

In Rick's car, they returned to the Concorde Crab-Shack. Michonne frowned internally, she was not a fan of all the deep-fried foods on their dinner menu.

"It's wow-time," Rick smiled as he opened the car door for her.

She stepped out of the car, smiling back, trying to be a good sport, while hoping they'd at least have decent coffee.

She was pleasantly surprised, they served an appetizing breakfast buffet, plenty of fresh fruit, pastries, and omelets made to order. About a dozen customers excluding the kitchen cook and buffet chef, cooking the omelets are in the restaurant. The dining room staff consisted of three elderly waitresses; two filling water glasses and clearing tables, and one at the cash register.

"This is good!" Michonne admitted, scooping up a heaping portion of Greek yogurt with honeyed granola and berries.

"Are you telling me you weren't a fan of the fried jumbo-shrimp platter…" He teased; thinking about the way she crinkled her nose every time he fed her the deep-fried shrimp. Being the good sport that she was, she ate three before she started stuffing fries in her mouth to keep him from feeding her more shrimp.

"How'd you guess." Michonne quipped unapologetically.

"I'm paying attention now." He nodded. He'd guessed wrong all those years about the possibilities of he and Michonne. Maggie had suggested, but no one listens to erratic-meddlesome Maggie.

Michonne nodded, "We've gotten past the hardest parts. We're both taking a break from work and sorting through it all."

"How long do you have before you go back to work? His penetrating blue eyes fixed profoundly into her doe eyes; looking about for more clues to where Michonne's mind is.

"I have two weeks of paid leave, and then I'll have to go back unless the doctor recommends otherwise," she paused, the thought of going back to work still made her feel uneasy, she wished that wasn't so, "what about you, when are you heading back to LA?"

"That all depends."

"On what?"

"How things go while you're here." Rick grinned his signature grin; his expression, the indifference in his voice masked his true longing.

"Are you really asking me to stay with you?" Michonne smiled softly, biting her lower lip and she stared lustfully into his bright blue eyes burning with her heart's desire. At that moment she realized she'd misinterpreted his actions, his words, his expressions for so many years... All those years, whenever in the same vicinity, a reaction would occur. It ignited their smiles and laughter, changed their posture, inviting the most intimate of body language.

Rick's entire body flushed warm, "Yes," Rick nodded, "Michonne, will you stay, for as long as you can, on my boat?"

"Are you afraid Maggie or Sasha will come into town and push you back into the spotlight?" She asked, her voice was quieter; unsure of absolutely everything that was happening before her eyes, unbelieving of what her heart was feeling, unknowing if she should allow it. Unconfident if she could stop it if she wanted too.

"I do expect at least one of them to show up eventually, but that's not why I want you to stay." At that thought, he felt an infusion of strength, so intoxicating he felt dizzy. His private thoughts made him blush.

"I did sleep well; your bed is a lot better than the hotel." He listened as if her words are golden, perhaps some elixir he's been waiting all his days to hear.

"I'll pick you up at the Inn, we'll check out of our rooms and plan for tomorrow over dinner." His lips stretch broader into a wide beam and his eyebrows arch for the sky. Rick felt like he was sailing on a warm sunny day, waves of happiness and relief washed over him, and he felt it soak right into his bones.

"I can stay for another night." Michonne agreed, "my rental car is due back tomorrow afternoon, I'll have to be in DeKalb by 2." Her blush burned through her cheeks and her face felt like a hot oven.

From what he said next, Michonne could tell he was thinking so deeply, already with a strategy that's several moves ahead of where her mind was.

"While you gathering your things at the hotel, I'll go to the market and get everything we need…" He held out his hand for her to take. She complied, he brought her hand to his lips and placed a gentle kiss upon it. They instantly felt the spark of electricity. "Want me to pick you up to anything?" he asked, still holding her hand.

In his words are a kindness, a concern that is so quick that, for him, it is natural. This attentiveness is a part of who he is and that is, if she's honest, the most attractive feature she'd seen in a man for quite some time.

"Maybe some coffee or tea if you don't have that and some milk for your stale-ass cornflakes," She shrugged and smiled.

He chuckled, "I'll need to get all that."

After they were suitably fed, they said their goodbyes, and Michonne got into her rental car and drove back to the hotel.

Rick drove to the supermarket to get more supplies for the boat, which included mostly food and a few cleaning supplies. While he shopped, he thought about ways to convince Michonne to stay for as long as possible. He could not imagine waking up without her. Rick Grimes kept his soul in a bottle; he kept it there so no matter how many see right into it, right through those beautiful eyes, it was still his. The moment he'd seen Michonne in the lobby, his entire soul began to burn brighter than anything he'd ever known. With every passing day, it grows stronger yet, and he wondered what would happen the day he confessed. Would she believe him?

He never thought she'd ever been within his reach and now that he has her, he never wants to let her go.

He waited in the check-out line, examining the items in his basket, coffee, milk, tea, fresh cornflakes, check. He wondered if the moment he lays his hand on her lower back and pulls her in tight would she shy away or would she reciprocate. The thought alone consumed his mind, jolted his body with electricity. He wanted to taste her, feel the movement of his body, become one with hers. He's unsure of how to tell her, so he waits, caring for her as his hidden inferno grows.

"Did you find everything okay?" The clerk behind the counter asked.

"Actually, I forgot something," He said and turned to the woman behind him, "excuse me please." He maneuvered out of the narrow lane, turned his kart around, and went racing down the aisle.

He found a package of Scrunchies-ponytail holders; further down the way and found a quart-size, zip-top convenience kit. The unit is filled with women's feminine products, shampoo, conditioner, body wash, deodorant, vanity pack, cleansing facial wipes, toothpaste, toothbrush, razor blades, nail file, and Loofah sponge. He returned to the checkout line with the items hoping he had everything they'd need for a little while.

Michonne surprised herself once again; she was happy to return to the Concorde Inn. As soon as she was alone in her room she stripped out of her clothes and leaped into the shower. She scrubbed herself thoroughly, properly conditioned her hair, and shaved everything. Taking her time to moisturize every inch of neglected skin afterward. She brushed her teeth and flossed. If she was honest, her anxiety situation had left very little room for the want to date, and she hadn't had much reason to groom beyond what fell within the spectrum of personal hygiene. She had no pretty underwear in her bag and nothing beyond practical jeans and sweaters. She'd have to make do with what she had. Rick had thought she'd looked cute lost in the middle of his baggy sweater after all. She felt she was probably alright. After drying her hair and trying to tame it without the help of her best pomades, she still had some time to kill as there was no sign of Rick just yet. Her thoughts took her back to past conversations with Maggie…Maggie had always insisted that she gave Rick a chance. Could she see something she could not? Undisclosed desires…Is that what others see when they look at one another?

She sat and reclined against the headboard and stretched her legs, with the remote in her hand. After flicking through the half dozen channels for a bit, she found something worthy of a smile. It was one of Rick's first movies – Hotel Hottie, a romantic comedy where he worked next to Naomie Harris, a pretty young actress who today was an A-lister herself. It was probably the movie that put Rick on the map as a heartthrob and helped build his career. Michonne put the remote aside and just watched him.

It was funny. She remembered going to the movies with her girlfriends at the academy to watch this when it came out. They were all tickled by the fact Michonne had grown up with the star of the movie and asked her all sorts of questions. Back then, she had been completely over her teenage crush – but it was still weird to be surrounded by female peers who wanted a piece of him – not that she could blame them. If she hadn't moved on back when she did, watching her handsome neighbor smooch Naomie Harris on-screen about fifteen times probably would have either cured her or killed her. Bizarrely, watching her friend even pretend-kiss other women felt invasive. It would have been parallel to stalking him in school every time he met with one of his girlfriends for some action behind the bleachers or something like that.

It was a different sort of weird now – because she had kissed the older version of that guy on-screen just a few hours ago and she could tell practice made perfect. She was so engrossed in the teen drama she nearly jumped out of her skin when there were knocks at the door.

Michonne laughed at herself, one hand to her chest. "It's open!"

Rick popped his head inside. "Hey."

"Hey. Did you get everything you needed?" she asked, waving him inside from her seat on the bed.

"Yeah, it's all in the trunk. God, what are you watching?" he stood next to the bed, staring at the screen with an adorable look of disgust.

"Look it's you!" she gestured to the screen unnecessarily.

"Christ, I look like I'm seventeen," Rick sat down next to her, staring at his younger self with a cringe.

"You didn't have a career when you were seventeen," Michonne laughed, watching his reaction to himself instead of the movie because it was so much more entertaining.

"I didn't have a career then, either!" Rick mumbled, gesturing with his chin towards the screen. "Look at that guy!" he scoffed. "She's so out of his league."

Michonne arched an eyebrow, looking back at the screen. Naomie Harris was pretty. But she knew what he meant. She already looked like a woman, while Rick, well he looked like a wiry boy with abs and tight curly hair and a sexy smile. At twenty-two, he was marketable-man-meat for teenage girls though – and, well, possibly older women as well. That was the way it went. It was funny how it could be said Naomie was too much woman for him at twenty-five, but now, they'd probably never be paired together in a movie again, because how could a forty-something woman be hot enough to be the lead's romantic interest?

 _Preposterous!_ She snorted at the idea and shook her head, thinking she wouldn't be paired with Rick in a movie either, since she was, you know, the exact-appropriate-age.

"I don't know she looks really into you!" she teased.

"What the hell is he doing with his arms?" Rick continued commenting on his younger self's performance. "It's like they're not attached to his body."

"Yeah, it's kind of cute though. Boys, that age always look a little lost in their stretching limbs, don't they?"

Rick eyed her funny. "Cute? It was a nightmare."

She laughed. "Well, you eventually adjusted, didn't you?"

"Sometime around thirty," he admitted with a smirk.

Michonne's eyebrows went up higher. The thought Rick would have been uncomfortable in his majestic skin into his thirties was crazy! Well, it showed her what she knew – not a damn thing.

"I'm packed up and checked out…You want to get out of here?" she suggested as she observed his profile – Rick continued to look at his younger self disapprovingly.

"I thought you'd never ask!" he perked up, turning to her. "Where's your bag?"

Michonne nodded as they started scooting out of bed. "It's by the door...Let's go!"


	10. This Ship has Sailed

"Will you help me get these put away?" Rick asked as they entered the boat galley, their arms brimming with grocery bags.

She slid her bags on the counter and grabbed two of the four bags from his hands, "Sure, I'll get these cold items in the fridge first," she offered, observing the milk and eggs…Rick had bought quite a bit of food, she assumed this meant he planned on staying for a while.

As Michonne shuffled and rearranged items into the refrigerator and freezer, Rick excused himself to the bathroom. He placed the personal items he'd purchased on display for her to find, hoping she'd feel more welcomed by the gesture.

Later that afternoon, Michonne was pleasantly surprised to discover that Rick was a skillful cook. The man could filet a fish like it was his job. She helped him out with the coconut rice and mango salad but mostly she stared, wide-eyed, and mouth open at the man at work. She did okay in the kitchen. But Michonne would never be one of those women people knew for her cooking skills. She cooked because she had to. Because she lived alone and if she didn't do the cooking, she'd have to live on take-out or microwavable stuff. She didn't enjoy the time she spent in the kitchen. She was almost positive that part of the reason Mike had broken up with her last year was that she couldn't perfectly reproduce his mother's special chicken and noodles recipe.

When they sat down on the upper deck to eat with an ocean view, she had to admit. His fish tasted as good as it looked. He used the lemons and fresh herbs just right.

"Have you always been able to cook like this?" she asked after she swallowed a juicy morsel.

Rick smirked, shaking his head. "No, I got this recipe from a chef at my favorite restaurant in LA over a decade ago. There are a few dishes I've perfected over the years, but I wouldn't say I'm a good cook."

"But you do cook for yourself," she guessed out loud.

"When I'm home, yes."

Michonne nodded, taking care to cut a small chunk of the fish, so it would last longer.

"Well, I'm flattered you fancy-cooked for me! You looked really confident with the big knife."

Rick leaned over the arm of the stretcher where he sat next to her and made a grave face, "You should always look confident with a big knife."

Michonne laughed and elbowed his side before forking another piece of fish.

"I don't know… in my experience, scared people holding knives can be a lot more dangerous. They might actually slice at you!" She took her bite.

She caught Rick staring at her from her periphery and looked up – he had a slightly contemplative frown as he looked at her. His attentive gaze followed her every movement, from the blinking of her eyes to the movement of her plump lustrous lips, and every single movement of her limbs.

"What?" she laughed, feeling her cheeks burn.

"Now and then I'll stop and realize what you do for a living and it's just… petrifying," he shrugged sheepishly and fell silent for a moment, trying to find the right words, "I remember that night, I was in my hotel room in New York and I saw you on the news. I tried to call you but...you didn't answer, I called Mrs. Taylor and she told me you were fine…but…she sounded worried."

Michonne sagged a little, a tiny smile threatening to lift the corners of her mouth. Now and then? He'd actually thought of that before? He'd worried about her getting hurt? Or killed?

She'd heard that often enough. From her parents, her brother, her friends, her boyfriends. She couldn't remember Rick ever having expressed that concern before. In fact, the Grimes family had been generally supportive when her family was making her life hell for her choices.

Maggie and Rick, being kids as much as herself back then, had simply enthusiastically labeled her badass. Which was a label she'd been proud to wear... But concern for her well-being? It was the first time she was witnessing it – and she couldn't help how much it gave her the warm fuzzies. Of course, it felt good when people worried. She herself would be stupid if she didn't, sometimes, stop to analyze the kind of risk she was taking every day. Except, in her case, she couldn't let that prevent her from doing what she was doing. Somehow, knowing there were people out there worrying for her, had helped. She'd be more careful because she didn't want her mother to receive a call at 2 am from a morgue somewhere. All of a sudden, having Rick's concern added to the scales, she felt like wearing two bulletproof vests.

"I'd seen a lot of bad things, people, but that case was hard to put behind me... it was all in the line of duty, trading myself for those poor women and children, I wouldn't change a thing…Well besides being held hostage in a deplorable warehouse for two days, by a human trafficker, and pretending to empathize with him…After the doctor patched my shoulder, mom drove me home. She said until I sleep, she wouldn't leave. I didn't sleep for two days. The third-night mom spiked my chamomile tea with melatonin, I passed out and had nightmares, I woke up screaming in a cold sweat. I've seen a few doctors, and gotten better since then, but...well you know the rest... Sorry, that was probably a little bleak for lunch conversation," she laughed.

"When else would you talk about it?" Rick asked curiously, his tone filled with concern.

"Well… I try not to say much around the family."

"Who do you talk to at work?" he prodded, cleaning his plate and reaching for his glass of water.

"Abraham," Michonne shrugged. "My doctor, but mostly my partner."

Rick nodded slowly, taking a big sip. "So, Abe…" he paused. Michonne perked her eyebrows waiting for the rest of the sentence. "…is it platonic?"

Michonne laughed, glad she didn't have her mouth full. "Uhm, yeah. Very."

Rick smiled, relieved, "Didn't mean to depress you. I was just testing the waters."

"Waters of competition…" Michonne made sure she sounded as sassy as possible while she waggled her eyebrows teasingly.

Rick moved to sit on the edge of her seat, bracing his hands on the arms of the stretcher before leaning over to steal a kiss from her grinning mouth. Michonne's wit disappeared into a cloud of heat the moment she felt his lips upon hers. She sighed and opened for him, feeling herself sinking just a little more into the stretcher as he swiped his tongue into her mouth.

"Oh… hope that wasn't too fishy…" her cheeks burned hot when he pulled back.

Rick's eyes danced with humor as he shook his head slowly at her. She clearly amused him – and that gave her the warm fuzzies too.

"Well you can talk to me too, you know?" he said, returning to the former subject. "Anytime, about anything, I want to always be there for you, be honest with you, listen, and care. I won't always have answers for you, you won't always have answers for me, but you will never be alone in your problems, and neither will I."

Michonne was still in a haze of his kiss to fully comprehend what he had said, but she blinked slowly, realizing he was talking about her anxiety. She fought the urge to squirm in a mixture of delight and embarrassment.

"Thank you…" she managed to say.

She knew it would be wrong to interrupt this moment with more jokes, as she was wired to do. Or, maybe not. Maybe her anxiety had wired her that way – to deflect any hint of someone else's interest in her. She didn't want to ruin this moment. She wanted the opposite of it.

"Kiss me again." She said, her tone left no doubt about her demand.

Rick smiled and leaned over, one hand cupping the side of her neck as he took her mouth eagerly, he'd been waiting for this all day. Michonne realized she certainly had. Up until now, Rick did not know what he wanted, he had not looked forward to anything. Now everything he wanted was in front of him in a beautiful display, now he can see the future. It didn't matter that the sun was hiding behind heavy clouds again. The heat was coming from him, and from inside her. It fueled their hunger.

Michonne reached up to sink her fingers into his silky, soft hair and tugged him closer, so the heat from his body enveloped her. Rick purred and shuddered when her fingernails raked his scalp, and he deepened the kiss in response, the stubble on his face was rough where it touched her but she didn't care. She just wanted to drag him over her body like a blanket. There was so, so much heat she could feel her skin flush. Michonne hooked her arms around his shoulders and drew him to lie on top of her on the stretcher. Rick responded promptly, tucking his arms under her shoulders, hands cupping her neck as he nudged the space between her legs. They lay flush together and the weight of him on top of her was everything she ever wanted. He felt so warm and solid and his kiss was so damn intoxicating.

"Oh…" Michonne breathe out, she had to pull away for air. "Sorry… out of practice…" she gasped jokingly, as her head dropped back to the stretcher.

Rick laughed, touching his forehead to hers. He closed his eyes for a moment, binding this incredible moment to his memory; but Michonne couldn't close hers, she was too mesmerized by the expression of relief on his face. She didn't want to ask anything or say anything silly again. This was too good to ruin it. The small, contented smile tugging at the corners of his gorgeous, swollen mouth took what was left of her breath away. But when he opened his eyes, those piercing hot cobalt eyes she had to close hers, because the heat in them was too, too much. She remained quiet when she felt Rick's mouth ghosting the line of her jaw down to the crook of her neck and shoulder. She bit her lip when he grazed his scruff against her sensitive skin and kissed and sucked with alternatively soft and rough pulls.

She had been speaking the truth when she said she was out of practice. She realized it now in the heat of this moment. It had been so long since she'd last allowed herself to just be with someone like this, to share kisses and intimacy, to want and desire someone the way she wanted and desired him now. It felt like falling from too big a height – but it also felt like Rick could catch her. It felt like he really wanted to.

So, she lost her fingers in his hair again, smiling when he shuddered in response to her slow scratches. Then she giggled when he retaliated by rubbing his scruff against the skin of her collarbone.

Rick pulled up and their eyes met, they wore matching grins and when Michonne moved her fingers to caress his beautiful face, Rick nudged her hand and kissed her delicate palm softly. He looked adorable with his hair all tousled by her hands. She couldn't keep herself from sinking her fingers into its softness. Rick's hand started rubbing her back up and down until they circled her waist. He leaned down and pressed his mouth to the middle of her chest – the kiss was soft, passionate, loving.

"So soft, so beautiful... everything...I've always dreamed of, you're everything I've always wanted Michonne." He would never meet or even see anyone so beautiful – and not just traditionally beautiful, but beautiful through her heart and her soul. She glowed brighter than any star in the sky than any woman in the world.

Her breath caught when his fingers slipped beneath the hem of her top, the tips grazed and teased her skin while his lips traced a path across her neckline, heating her skin and sending tingling ripples of pleasure all over her body.

"Rick…" Michonne gasped, painfully aware of the desperate edge to her voice. He looked up from her chest, blue eyes cloudy, swollen, busy lips parted as he watched her questioningly. "…Come here…" she urged him, tugging at his hair and bracing her thighs against his hips to help propel him forward.

Rick did not hesitate, lifting onto his arms and slanting to take her lips – he groaned into her mouth as she licked his top lip and tugged and pulled. Her arms hooked around his neck as her thighs remained glued to his hips – the heat emanating from him was fueling hers. Unable to help herself she rocked her hips against his and they groaned in unison at the result.

His warmth and his lips were suddenly gone and she felt the cold sea wind all over her sensitive skin. Opening her eyes in confusion, she saw Rick had stood up – the light behind him was bright enough that it cloaked his face in shadows so she couldn't interpret his mood. But then he was offering her his hand in a silent command. Breathlessly, Michonne reached up and grabbed onto his hand, realizing hers was trembling.

Rick pulled her up and immediately started steering her away from their little nook, leading the way down the stairs to the lower deck. He never let go of her hand as he made a mad dash for the bedroom. When he stopped her in the middle of the room and turned her to face him, his eyes asking her a million questions.

Michonne stared at him, momentarily at a loss. She knew he needed her to say yes so, she simply nodded wordlessly and it was all he needed. His hands cupped her face and hers clung around his neck, Rick stepped back, taking hold of her hips to bring her along with him. He sat on the foot of the bed, lustful eyes twinkling and smiling as he gazed up at her.

She sighed, looking down at him looking up at her. Rick propped his chin on top of her chest and watched her. He watched her big doe eyes fill with desire, her sensual delicious lips pant, the rise and fall of her sexy chest, and he became unbearably aroused.

Michonne grinned back and clasped his face between her hands, leaning down, to sprinkle teasing kisses across his lips and down the line of his jaw.

Rick's hands kneaded and caressed her soft and delicate skin beneath the edge of her top. She forgot all about her plain white panties and boring sports bra because when Rick undressed her, there was nothing but the purest and unfiltered passion in his eyes. It was also too easy to forget her worries when he sprawled her on the mattress and loomed over her, his muscular frame caging her most deliciously. He was the perfect sculpture of a man, the sight of him was its own intoxicating experience. She loved the weight of him, the heat of him, and his magic, magic mouth. She loved raking her nails over his back, she loved to feel the ripples and flexing of his muscles as he moved with her, in her. Until what he was doing to her was so much, so perfect, she had to close her eyes, and then it was all feeling and sensation and touching and kissing to the very end.

They rolled onto their sides, facing each other, spent, breathless, and still, they couldn't stop touching each other and smiling like fools. It was still daytime outside when it started to drizzle, the sounds lulling them both into slumber as the rain hit the skylight above them.

* * *

They didn't leave the boat for the remainder of the week. The following weekend as Rick prepared breakfast, Michonne's phone buzzed on the counter; she set her cup down, took a deep breath, and slid out of the cozy nook. When the phone stopped buzzing, she glanced at the missed call display. She dialed her voicemail, listened to the message, and plugged her phone into the charger.

"Maggie is on her way," Michonne coolly announced as she sat back down and scooped up her coffee mug, "so I guess this is it," she snickered.

"Yep, it's over…" Rick nodded with a snort and a wink back.

After breakfast, they both proceeded to clean the boat from top to bottom and then they packed. Once the boat was spotless, impenetrable, and they had everything they needed, Rick followed Michonne to the rental-car dealership in DeKalb. Rick paid the hefty late-fee for her vehicle and in his Land Rover, they headed south to Florida.

After the long six hours ride, Michonne ordered a pizza and Rick checked them into a hotel for the night. Rick tuned into his favorite show Dirty Jobs. A couple of hours and a few beers later, Michonne fell asleep. Rick quickly took the opportunity and snuck away to use the public computer in the hotel lobby and made some arrangements.

The next night was unexpected. Rick had whisked her off to an elegant five-star resort. At sunset on the tiki-lit patio with a view of pink-sand beaches of St. Lucia, they settled in and enjoyed a catered seafood dinner. Over a champagne toast, they agreed, they'd leave the world behind for just a little while longer.

"Beautiful Michonne," He said, kneeling before her, "I love you darling and if you'll marry me, I promise to trust you, to never lie to you, never go to bed on an argument and never let fun become unimportant." He dug in his pocket and presented the ring.

"I've always loved you, Rick..." She slid on the ring, the big, spectacular ring, and smiled, "… hell yes I'll marry your sexy ass." Her emotions ran so high she felt dizzy. It was the calling card of adventure, of paths awaiting her feet. Whatever was ahead could be a great challenge, and there could be tears, but it was her adventure to take and so she smiled. He felt the same. They felt each other's feelings without saying a word.

The wedding took place two weeks later on the beach just before sunset. The only members in attendance besides Pastor Gabriel were Carl and Enid. The elderly couple resided in the beachfront bungalow next door to theirs. Carl was a retired successful horse farmer from Kentucky. He and Rick became instant friends and would fish every morning and cook their fresh catch for the ladies at night. Enid was a retired well-recognized set designer; she and Rick paths had crossed on many occasions and they were both very impressed by each other's talents in their respective roles. Over dinner, Enid would share fascinating stories of her glory days, designing sets in Hollywood, and on Broadway.

Rick and Michonne lived in paradise for a little over three months and deeply considered taking permanent residency until fate intervened.

"I didn't think it was possible at my age." Her voice trembled and her eyes filled with tears of joy as she presented Rick with the pregnancy test results.

"With you darling, anything is possible." Rick held her hand and smiled proudly knowing a healthy sense of joy can only be born of true love.

People use the words 'happiness' and 'joy' interchangeably, but they are not the same. Joy is more full, more lasting than happiness. Joy is deeper and more profound; without joy every sweet thing is bitter; the cake is guilt, the wind is cold, rain is depressing. With joy, the cake is rich, the wind is refreshing, rain is cleansing. That is what the couple felt at that moment. They never realized what true joy was until they became one. They also took this news as a sign; it was time to go home.

When they returned to Atlanta, Rick resided at Michonne's modest home. He placed his Beverly Hills mansion for sale and had his items shipped to a local storage facility. The couple planned on building a home in the Georgia countryside that was private and more suitable for their soon to be family.

When Maggie and Sasha had arrived in Concorde and found they were long gone, Maggie began stalking Michonne's house. This was easily done due to proximity, she lived only two blocks away. The night she saw Rick's car in Michonne's driveway, she was excited, she missed them both. She also understood they'd most likely not want to be disturbed so soon after just getting home. So, she stuck with her plan and placed an invite in the mailbox, inviting the couple to their own 'welcome back' reception. The entire time the couple had been away, Maggie had told, family, a few friends, and a couple of coworkers what she assumed were true. Rick and Michonne had fallen in love and eloped.

The couple graciously accepted the invite and at the celebration, they announce the pregnancy which was a bigger surprise too all than their elopement. Most of their friends and family assumed Rick would return to his movie occupation and Michonne would resume her law enforcement profession once the 'fling' had' flung', no one, besides Maggie ever thought they'd actually tie the knot let alone start a family. Even Michonne's brother Andre was taken by surprise, he lost a three hundred dollar bet with Maggie because of his doubts, it was the first bet he was ever happy to lose. Although surprised, everyone was elated.

Rick and Michonne were able to avoid the media for several months. But now and then the paparazzi would catch a brief glimpse of the newlyweds leaving Dr. Cloyd's office when the doctor's schedule would not allow her to make a home visit. In time, Michonne's pregnancy began to show; the pictures made the tabloids and the media dug into Michonne's background.

To Rick's absolute surprise and relief, his fans loved Michonne. She's the type of woman girls found beautiful, yet still relatable, the fact she was in law enforcement was empowering, inspiring, and his long-time female fans were smitten that they'd known each other most of their lives. They dubbed the new 'it couple- Richonne'.

Sasha, desperate to keep Rick as a client asked if he'd ever considered working in the industry again. Rick gave her his conditions, not really caring if she found him work or not, Sasha was managing three boy bands, she's hardly in need of work.

* * *

**_Six Years Later…_ **

**Rick POV**

**Narrator** \- **Mike Rowe:** _Welcome to The Discovery Channel's - Richonne: Fix My Boat – Our host and hostess, Rick and Michonne Grimes travel the Atlantic to meet with avid sailors, captains, and skippers from all walks of life. They discuss, evaluate, and concept the revitalizing, repairing, or refurbishing of a variety of vessels big or small. This episode is sponsored by Richonne Marine Project Boat. Enter to win the completely remodeled Richonne Marine Project Boat, a 1980 Pursuit 2650 powerboat, valued at more than $150,000. It comes with a huge array of high-tech, top-of-the-line products and features, including twin 250 horsepower outboard motors from Yamaha Marine, LED Deck Lights by Yamaha Marine, customized deck flooring by SeaDeck Marine Nonskid, and much, much more! All proceeds benefit the NorthStar Project; which provides services and support for trafficking victims and works with survivors to develop long-term strategies for ending human trafficking. To enter the raffle, go to richonnefixmyboat/project boat_.

"Aye-Aye-Captain! I'm Rick Grimes, and we're here in the peaceful retirement community of Concorde Georgia. Today we'll meet Monroe's. The family of four recently brought a beautiful fifty-foot Sunseeker yacht built-in 1978. This classic has been abandoned for over three years and requires some interior repairs! Before we got started, we called on Glenn Rhee, our skilled engineer. He provided us with a system check engine and a structural overview. We'll cover things like the bottom hull paint, engine tune-up, teak wood restoration, and fiberglass repair. Once the repairs are done my beautiful wife will offer guidance on the interior decor. Right Darlin…"

"That's right Rick…Hi, I'm Michonne Grimes, and it's a sunny, calm, 75 degrees today, perfect weather for sailing. The Monroe family asked Rick and me for ideas on how to update their boat on a budget while keeping its original charm. I've put together some color schemes, a selection of fixtures, and a combination of furniture accessories to look over. It will be a pleasure to offer some Feng Shui to such a charming vessel!"

Michonne and I have a thing where she pretends to be annoyed with me at the beginning of every episode. She didn't like the idea at first, because she thought people wouldn't take us seriously, but soon we both realized it's a great icebreaker, and I can't help it, I'm a sucker for cheap laughs, she giggles every time I tell a corny joke and that's worth it all in itself. One day our handsome son RJ will see our show, he'll laugh and learn. I know by the time he's a teen, I'll be pretty old, so he'll need to see his dad operating in his prime.

"Hey, Chonne, where do sick boats go when they need help…?

She 'scowls annoyingly' at me…"Where Rick…"

"The dock…"

"What did the ocean say to the sailboat…?

"What Rick?"

Nothing. It just waved…"

The kids are rolling, even the camera crew chuckles at the cheesiness; her delivery was superb, she's a natural.

Out of view of the camera, she graced me with a wink and a sexy smirk. She knows that I want her in every way, I need her with me on my journey. She wants to be here because it's her next journey too.

I know most people would say my TV show is a downgrade from being an A- list actor, but this is what we want. I get to work with real people and do what I've grown to love. I have total control of my time, my image, and most of all I get to have Michonne with me. I feel like now, the world can see me for who I am.

Michonne never returned to work ending her twenty-year law enforcement career. I initially thought it was the hostage negotiation gone wrong that was the cause of her PTSD, but that was only half of it, Michonne was afraid she was becoming too old; too old to be an effective agent, too old to become a wife and too old to become a mother. Well, shows what she knows! Michonne is adored by millions, she's eternally beautiful, a wonderful wife and mother.

Poets often describe love as an emotion that we can't control, one that overwhelms logic and common sense. That's what it was like for me. I didn't plan on falling in love with my childhood friend, and I doubt if she planned on falling in love with me. But the moment we came together, it was clear that neither of us could control what was happening to us. We fell in love, and once we did, something rare and beautiful was created. For me, love like that happens only once in a lifetime.

**_The Beginning..._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I hope you all enjoyed my short story. I am done for now but may revisit, later in the year...


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